


A Tale as Old as Time

by Gia279



Series: Once Upon a Time in Beacon Hills... [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Again, Alive Hales, Awesome Lydia, Beauty and the Beast AU, Curse Breaking, Cursed Derek, Curses, F/M, I'm so excited!, Kate Argent being icky and herself as per usual, M/M, Magic, Pack Mom Stiles, Scott is a good friend and a disney princess, Sheriff is awesome, Shy Derek, Slow Build, There will be 3 of these fics, curse breaker Stiles, cursed hales, fairy tale AU, fairy tales used as curses, fire later on, full wolf shifts, it's not really like HUGE but..., magic and fire and sorcery oh my!, no hale fire though, original characters that sort of float in and out, slight...um..fear of bodies, sorry - Freeform, would that be necrophobia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there was a town in California called Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was a peculiar town. Over the decades, the residents got used to curses being laid and broken, curses lasting years and being accepted as part of life, vengeful sorceresses and sorcerers ranting in broad daylight in the streets. </p>
<p>Beacon Hills was also territory to a werewolf pack. The Hales had protected Beacon Hills for as long as it had existed, until a vengeful sorceress had cursed <em>them.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hi! This is so exciting! I'm so happy to be posting this! I've been thrilled to post this! I want to know what everyone thinks so badly that I could hardly wait! I've written out ten chapters before starting to post, so I shouldn't have to delay any postings! (My plan is to post on Wednesday, because there's nothing on Wednesdays!...For me, anyway. I have no life.)
> 
> This is so far unbeta'd, but I think I found all the typos and such. Let me know if I missed anything!
> 
> I literally survive on comments. 
> 
> Also I apologize for the series name AND for the summary. I...couldn't think of better.

Once upon a time, there was a town in California called Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was a peculiar town. Over the decades, the residents got used to curses being laid and broken, curses lasting years and being accepted as part of life, vengeful sorceresses and sorcerers ranting in broad daylight in the streets. 

Beacon Hills was also territory to a werewolf pack. The Hales had protected Beacon Hills for as long as it had existed, until a vengeful sorceress had cursed _them._

Now, even the youngest children knew better than to go into the preserve, and if they did, they knew to avoid Hale property. If you stepped foot—even just _one_ foot—onto Hale property, you’d be trapped there with the beast and probably eaten. Or torn to shreds. No one knew for sure. 

Only four people had gotten trapped in the eight years since the curse was cast, and most agreed that was a pretty good number. And, of course, of the four, three were teenagers, and, well, everyone knew how teenagers could be, they would say, clucking their tongues and comforting themselves in the knowledge that they, at least, were safe from the beast. 

Every once in a while, though, someone would remember that the first to disappear had been Dr. Alan Deaton, and he’d been a responsible, middle-aged man with his own business. Hardly the adventuring, wandering type.

But he _was_ an odd one, the gossip-mongers would add. Very close to Talia Hale. That’ll be it, they’d say. He thought he could help them and got himself stuck. 

Besides, they’d add, that McCall boy had taken to the vet’s practice like a duck to water, and wasn’t he so good with all the animals? He was such a sweet boy, too, unlike his good-for-nothing father… And so the geriatric citizens of Beacon Hills would move on to fifteen-year-old gossip like no time had passed at all. 

Stiles Stilinski didn’t know much about the Hale curse, not least because he’d been twelve when the curse had been laid. He’d been more interested in his own mischief than some family he’d never met at the time. 

Now he knew all too much about the various curses floating around Beacon Hills, and he definitely knew that the Hale curse was much, much more complicated and powerful than the usual. 

“Hey, can you tell me where to find, ah,” the man fumbled with a crumpled piece of paper, squinting. “Gardening? Something about flowers?”

Stiles tapped his pen on his legal pad. “Symptoms?”

The guy blinked at him. “What?” 

“I can help you, but you’re going to have to tell me the symptoms.”

“Oh! She’s making flowers die whenever she passes them, or touches them. Grass and other plants are dying, too,” he added thoughtfully.

“Go to B2, look for the red collection.” 

“Thanks!”

Stiles worked in the basement of the library, ‘Records’ to outsiders, ‘Curse Breaking’ to locals. 

Records of every curse laid and broken were kept in journals, organized by nature and length of curse, power and symptoms split up between the aisles. 

Stiles knew a lot of them by content at least, but it was near impossible to memorize everything.

“Thanks,” the man said, emerging from the shelves and going to the copy machine. “Do you know if there are any freshwater springs nearby?” 

“Eugh. Yeah. Here, I’ve got a map of those. What else do you need?” he asked, curious. He bent to the file cabinet where they kept maps—a lot of curses needed springs for cleansing and breaking, and it had just seemed efficient to have maps on hand—and came back up with one in hand.

“A black rose.” The man looked baffled. “A blacked rose? I’m…”

Stiles rounded the desk and picked up the copy the machine had spit out. “A blackened rose. Let the Cursed touch the rose and take it in with her to the spring.” He frowned at the paper. “Ah, to be safe, bring a variety of flowers—don’t let the Cursed touch them until you get to the spring—these things tend to be more personalized than we realize, so it’s best to be safe than sorry.”

“Oh. Thanks. Can you write that down?” 

Stiles nodded and bent over the desk, scribbling notes and tips in the blank areas of the copy. “Hey, let me know how it goes,” he said, folding the map around the copy and handing it to him.

He grinned and saluted with the paper. “You got it. Thanks for your help, seriously. I’m useless with this.” 

Stiles suspected he was an outsider who’d moved to town, which would explain his confusion. 

After that guy, there were a couple older ladies, who replied to Stiles’s offer to help with a snippy, “We know where it is!”

He could only assume they’d pissed of the same sorceress multiple times—their attitudes were certainly enough to piss anyone off—and therefore knew exactly which book they needed. 

 

At around noon, Lydia Martin—Stiles’s one-time crush and now his co-worker and a pretty good friend—came stalking down the stairs, eyes snapping with temper.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” 

“Some moron just called Julie Vale a cow,” she spat.

“ _What?_ ” Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. “A local?”

“Yes!” She darted into the animal-based curses and began scanning the shelves. “Local idiot didn’t realize it was her, of course,” she snarled.

He’d forgotten just how often people were cursed while he was away. He’d been at college and hadn’t spent any extended time at home since he left. In Beacon Hills, curses were part of everyday life. His new job at the library had cheered up his father by spades. 

The job seemed to signal to John that Stiles intended to stay.

To himself, Stiles could admit that he’d never intended to leave for long.

“What’d she do?” he asked, leaning a hip against the desk.

“Oh, she turned him into a cow, of course. Mrs. McKennitt is coaxing him inside now, so no visitors get an eyeful.” Lydia yanked a blue book off the shelf. “She did it in the moment, no preparation. It should be a quick fix,” she muttered.

Most curses done spur of the moment were easy to break—they’d been done before or something similar had happened, and the key to them could be found in the records. Premeditated curses, with lots of thought and ill intent were the ones that took, for instance, eight-plus years to break. 

“All curses can be broken,” Lydia mumbled, scanning a page and impatiently flipping to the next. “Ha! Right. Julie did this same thing to Greenburg a few years ago. Maybe if she didn’t walk like a befuddled calf, people wouldn’t _say_ that.”

“Ah, right.” Stiles remembered.

Julie had been in school with them, and she _did_ have a slow, meandering way of walking that was the source of great contention in the school halls. And, apparently, the sidewalks. 

“Okay, we can try kissing him,” Lydia snorted, “or, oh, here it is. Great yellow daffodils. He has to eat them.” She laughed. “Chivalry. She does have a sense of humor.” 

“Did you happen to grab his wallet?” Stiles asked dryly.

“Nope, but Heather will let you bring them, then take payment once he has hands again.” 

“You know, our job isn’t actually _breaking_ curses,” Stiles pointed out.

Lydia looked at the book, pushing at her hair. “Maybe it should be,” she said softly. She straightened up. “They’d probably pay us more.” 

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, right. Daffodils, right?”

“Yep. Thanks.” 

He waved over his shoulder on his way to the stairs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

He called John. “Hey,” he said when he answered. “I’m going to lunch in about twenty minutes. Wanna eat together?”

“ _Sure. Meet at the dinner then._ ”

“Got it.” He hung up and looked around the lobby of the library.

Connor was at the circulation desk, her hands on her hips, watching the patrons milling about with narrowed eyes. 

“Where’s Bessy?” he asked, grinning.

Connor grimaced. “Mrs. McKennitt took him to the back. What a moron,” she added under her breath. “I thought Lydia was going to smack him! But Mrs. McKennitt wouldn’t let her, you know, hit an animal just ’cause he was a dumb human.” She shrugged. “Did you already find the way to break it?” she demanded.

Stiles nodded, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, but can’t you make him wait a _little_ longer? He deserves to learn a lesson!”

“And have Lydia out for _me?_ I don’t think so. Who was it, by the way?”

“Oh.” Connor huffed. “Matt Daehler, the dummy.” 

“Gotcha.” Stiles smiled when a couple approached the desk. He waved slightly at Connor while backing away.

 

Heather’s flower shop was just around the corner from the library, which was convenient. A lot of the common curses needed plants of some sort to break, so Stiles and Lydia tended to send her a lot of business. 

“Hey, Stiles,” she said brightly. “Did you help Quinn out?”

“Who?”

She frowned at him. “The guy with the glasses. He was helping out his sister. She works for me and got on someone’s bad side, I guess. She kept killing everything.”

“Oh, him. I didn’t know his name. Yeah, I helped him. You don’t know who cursed her?” he asked, crossing the room. He stopped to peer at a flowering plant hanging from the ceiling, frowning at it.

“Nope. Might have been someone playing around, might’ve been more. I doubt it. It wasn’t a particularly strong curse.” Heather shrugged and banged out a beat on the counter with her hands. “So, whatcha got for me?”

He laughed. “I need about five daffodils. Matt Daehler called Julie Vale a cow,” he added. 

“Well?” she demanded. “Details!” 

He obliged, filling in everything from Lydia’s arrival to his walk to the shop. “I’ll get some pictures for you.”

“You better. A cow, gosh, that’s great.” She pushed the flowers across the counter to him. “You let Matt know that he now owes me a grand total of ten bucks.” 

Stiles looked at the flowers. “For these?”

She flicked a card at him. “No. For a month ago when he pissed off Alexander Wayne and needed a couple of roses to get rid of _that_ curse. Plus the price of the daffodils.” 

“Okay, jeeze.” He picked up the card and set it on the counter. “I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks.” She waved. “Tell Sheriff Stilinski I said hi!” 

“Will do!” 

Feeding the flowers to Matt was left to Mrs. McKennitt, who was the least likely to just shove them down his throat. 

Lydia took before, during, and after pictures and sent them to Heather, snickering.

“Oh, and you owe Heather ten dollars,” Stiles said cheerfully. “You should go pay that now, or she might not be so willing to help next time.” He narrowed his eyes in a way he hoped said _Or I will make you_. It might have come across as _I have an eyelash in my eye_. 

Swearing and red-faced, Matt stormed out.

“Ungrateful snot,” Mrs. McKennitt muttered. “Next time, leave him be. See how he likes wandering about as a heifer for a few days.”

Stiles laughed, even as the door behind them slammed with Matt’s temper. He noticed the time on the clock and smiled. “Oh, hey, I’m going to head out and have lunch with my dad. Want anything?”

Mrs. McKennitt patted his arm. “Just tell the sheriff we said hi and enjoy your lunch.”

“Will do,” he said pleasantly, glancing at Lydia, who shook her head. 

John was already at the diner (it had a name at some point, but no one remembered what it was, after the sign went out about twenty years or so ago and no one replaced it) when Stiles arrived. He grinned and stood up when he saw him.

“Heard you had a petting zoo at work today.”

“Ha! Matt got turned into a cow for calling a girl a cow. Instant karma.” Stiles slid into the booth across from John and plucked at the menu. “You didn’t order bacon, did you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Nope,” John said cheerily. “I swear,” he added when he saw Stiles’s face. “No bacon.”

“Good.” Stiles perused the menu, although he knew it back and front, and eventually ordered a grilled chicken salad.

Their waitress, Lilah, brought them cups of ice water and took Stiles’s order, chatting amiably for a few minutes. 

“So,” John said, “have you been enjoying the job?” He sipped at his water innocently after asking.

“Yeah. Lydia was saying if they paid us more, we could be curse breakers instead of librarians.” He chuckled, although the idea had a certain appeal. He suspected it would appeal to anyone, the idea of being a sort of hero.

“There’s a thought.” John set his cup down and shifted in his seat. “People have tried it before, you know. But none of them had the knack for it.” He shrugged. “The easy curses, sure, they found those just fine, but so did everyone else. Why pay someone to read a book when you can read it yourself for free?”

Stiles snorted. “Loads of people do that, though.”

“Not in Beacon Hills, and not for curses,” John said. “But if you’ve built up a reputation—like you and Lydia have, for instance—for breaking moderate to difficult curses, you could probably get some good business.”

Stiles frowned at him. “What, you think we should _do it?_ ” 

John laughed. “I think if you want to try, you should.” He looked up then, sudden, like a dog scenting food.

Stiles was distracted _instantly_ when Lilah set down a Philly cheesesteak and fries in front of his father. “Hey, no, what is this?” he demanded. 

“Not bacon,” John said with a broad grin.

Lilah set Stiles’s salad in front of him and bolted, leaving Stiles to his lecture.

 

When they finished (eating and lecturing), John counted out Lilah’s tip with a big grin. “Son, it sure is an event, having lunch with you.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you’d have gotten a grilled chicken sandwich or something,” Stiles grumbled. 

Outside, the sidewalk was blocked up by a family of five deciding where to eat, so John and Stiles moved off to the left to talk. 

“You should think about what I said,” John said seriously. “If you’re interested in curse breaking, I know you could do it.”

“Thanks. I’ll think on it.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, grinning awkwardly. 

John started to speak again, but his radio squawked. “Hang on. Yeah?” he said, tipping his head toward his shoulder.

“Sheriff, we’ve got a family of hikers who breached the safe trails and are moving through the preserve toward the Hale property.”

“Shit. Okay, I’ll be right there. See you tonight,” he added to Stiles, already running toward the cruiser. 

Stiles watched him peel off, hands in his pockets, worry starting to tie his stomach into knots, although he couldn’t say why. Plenty of out-of-towners had wandered toward Hale property before, and they’d all been stopped before. 

“People never think the signs apply to them,” a woman commented from behind him.

He snorted, turning to look at her. “Yeah, I noticed that.” He smiled at her before he started walking back to the library. 

Lydia was helping a woman who had hooves, partially hidden by her long skirt. “Blake,” she said when Stiles lifted his brows. 

“Ah. Red section, D4?” 

“I was thinking violet, A5,” Lydia said lightly.

“Well, which is it?” the woman snapped, glaring at Stiles. 

“Lydia’s been working here longer. I defer to her seniority.” 

The woman stomped off, her hooves clopping loudly against the tiles.

“Is this how the rest of the day is going to go?” Stiles wondered, frustrated. “It’s not as if there’s anything stopping _them_ from checking the directories!” He rounded the desk and pulled his chair off to the side, letting Lydia have the bigger part of the desk. 

“People get irritable when they’re cursed. I’ve noticed it also seems to drain away their common sense. Who knows? Ten cents per page, Ms. Peake,” Lydia said sternly. 

Ms. Peake huffed and grumbled about the price, but she paid the copy machine when it became clear that it wasn’t intimidated by her.

“Is there _any_ cleaning that needs to be done? I could sweep. Or dust. I could mop. Or I could help Mrs. McKennitt shelf books!” 

“Nope. You get to stay here until four. She,” Lydia gestured regally toward the stairs, “likes us to be here in case anyone needs help or an out-of-towner wanders down here by accident.”

“Do they do that often?” he asked. He pulled his phone out as he did, thumbing open his Games folder and scrolling through before settling on Solitaire. 

“Occasionally we get someone looking for the bathrooms, as if there aren’t signs posted everywhere. Are you playing _Solitaire_ on your _iPhone?_ ” she demanded.

“I like it,” he muttered. 

“Go dust the back shelves if you’re that bored. Is being still against your religion or something?”

“Or something,” he agreed, jumping to his feet. He nearly knocked Ms. Peake over on his way to the supply closet—he helped steady her, since she seemed unsteady on her goat feet. He had to root through sprays, mops, and brooms to find the Swiffer duster. There’d been an actual feather duster when he arrived, but Lydia had helped him convince Mrs. McKennitt that the library’s budget could definitely afford a Swiffer. 

He hummed along to the soft violin music Lydia played over the speakers while he dusted, straightening journals and occasionally putting them back where they belonged. 

The journals were all labeled A-V, and all color coded, so it should have been easy for patrons to set them back where they got them, but he was always finding red journals in the green, or **A** section within the **F** shelves. 

At the very back of the room was the _Unbroken_ section, which was just a long table with open journals set on it, along with pens and tissues. 

That was where the Hale curse was documented—and other unbroken curses, of course. The Hale curse was just the most recent, and one that affected the whole town. 

Stiles looked down at the page describing the curse. It wasn’t very much, because no one knew anything about the curse. Just that there was some sort of beast on Hale land, that trespassing got you trapped there, and all of the Hales were (probably) dead. 

Stiles traced his finger down the page, scoffing when he go to the line for the person who’d created the curse. They didn’t even have a name. 

“Hello back there, did you get lost?” Lydia called. 

“Just checking the unbroken records.” He swiped the duster over the table skillfully before making his way back to the front. “Everything’s so dusty back there.” 

Lydia was refilling the paper in the copy machine. She shot him a bored look over her shoulder. “Of course it is. If any of them were going to be broken, they’d have been by now.”

“It hasn’t been two _hours_ since you said _all curses can be broken_ ,” he said in a falsetto.

“Of course I did, because they can. That doesn’t mean they _will_ be.” She straightened and closed the paper tray. “Thinking about the Hale curse?” she asked lightly. 

“It’s the biggest,” he pointed out. “Everyone’s got to be thinking about it.”

“Sure. We all wonder about it, from time to time. But since we don’t know who _cast_ it, we don’t know where to start to break it.”

Stiles hummed, skimming a finger over the desk. “Couldn’t be someone from outside of Beacon Hills, could it?”

“It could be, I suppose. But then why not stick around and brag? Beacon Hills magic-users are known to be extremely powerful.” Lydia smacked his hand away from her paperwork and answered the phone. She set it back in the cradle barely two seconds later. “Lexa is here with some stuff from her grandmother’s files. You have three hours to help me organize them.” 

Lexa Paulson came down the steps three minutes later carrying a large, disorganized stack of yellowing papers. She was a witch, descendent of a sorceress but instead using her magic more carefully and kindly. Witches of Beacon Hills tended to make protection spells for places, such as the sheriff’s department, the library, schools, so that sorceresses couldn’t harm the people within. 

Lexa had been helping Stiles and Lydia collect records for older curses lately, as many as she could get her hands on.

“These are all I could find from Grandma Paulson,” she huffed, blowing bangs out of her eyes. Dust was smudged across her face and t-shirt. “There was a book of old faerie tales, but she’d spotted me by then and squirrelled it away.” 

“We have one, for reference,” Lydia said absently, already skimming through the top sheet. “Some of your cousins like to draw inspiration from them.”

Lexa sniffed, insulted, but the effect was lost when she was overcome with violent sneezes. “Screw you,” she managed. “They’re not my,” she sneezed three more times, “ _relatives._ ” 

Lydia looked up. “There are tissues at the end of the desk.” She looked back at the papers. “Stiles, two hours and forty-eight minutes.”

“Thank you, Lex,” he said pointedly.

Lexa shot him a watery glare before leaving.

He didn’t hold it against her; it was hard, hoping for Lydia Martin’s attention and getting bare scraps.

“Stiles,” Lydia prompted, whacking him with a legal pad. “Organizing!” 

Two and a half hours later, Stiles surfaced from deciphering the spidery handwriting because his phone was ringing.

“Make it fast,” Lydia muttered. Her half of the pile was distinctly shorter than his. 

Stiles shook his head and walked away to answer. “Yes?” he asked, rubbing at his aching eyes.

“Stiles? We have a problem.”

“Who—is this Parrish?” His heart rate spiked, fear making his palms slick. “What’s happened? Is my dad okay?” It felt like he was trying to breathe through a straw.

“Your dad is in the preserve looking for a kid we’ve already found,” he said quickly.

Stiles sucked in a huge, noisy breath. “Dammit, Jordan,” he rasped. “Did you try his _cell?_ ” he snapped.

“Gee, Stiles, why didn’t I think of that?” Deputy Parrish swore under his breath. “I’m sorry. We found his cell. We called it and we found it and his radio in the preserve. He’s not here. We can’t find him.”

Stiles’s fingers tightened around the phone convulsively, like holding it might steady the world around him. “Where is he?”

“We think, maybe, _something_ confused him and…there’s a chance he’s on Hale land,” he said, resigned.

Stiles closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know chapter one was an info dump, I apologize, buuuuut here we are! Chapter two! Let me know what you think! :D Next chapter will be posted next Wednesday!

Stiles left the library at a run, not even bothering to tell Lydia or Mrs. McKennitt where he was going. If the Sheriff was indeed trapped, they’d hear about it soon enough.

He jumped into his jeep and peeled off, barely tapping his brakes at the stop sign before whipping around the corner toward the preserve. 

There were four deputies standing by all the squad cars, waiting for him, it seemed, their faces grim and set.

“The rest are combing the woods,” Parrish said. “Johansson took the family back to their hotel.” 

“You think he’s already trapped on Hale property?” Stiles pressed, jamming his keys in his pocket as he jumped out. “Why do you think that?”

“Because we found his phone and his radio on the trail nearest to the property, but we didn’t want to get too close.” Parrish ran a hand over his face. “I can’t understand why he’d drop his things anyway.” 

Stiles pulled shaking hands through his hair. “I’m going to look.”

“I’ll come with you. You guys keep an eye out,” he said, tapping his radio and nodding at the nearest deputy. He held out John’s cell phone to Stiles. 

He took it and brushed the dirt from the screen. He couldn’t imagine John dropping it on purpose, but, on the other hand, he couldn’t think of any accidental way to drop both his phone _and_ his radio, which attached firmly to his belt and shoulder. 

“We’ll find him,” Parrish said, though his voice sounded tense and uncertain.

“Hale property is that way, isn’t it?” Stiles asked, pointing to his left. 

“Yes.”

Without another word, he veered left, hoping to walk along the property line. Parrish stayed on the marked trail.

To Stiles’s surprise, the Hale’s property line was a literal groove dug into the dirt, stretching a curving line through the trees. He suspected that the magic and strength of the curse had caused it, but he couldn’t be sure. The possibility of it made him uneasy.

“Stiles, be careful,” Parrish called. He was still on the trail, as if they were going to find John with a twisted ankle somewhere, waiting to be found. 

“I see the line,” he replied. 

He could _just_ see the Hale house through the trees, a sprawling, two-story home. The details were obscured by the distance and the leaves, but it appeared less abandoned than Stiles would have expected. 

“Stiles?”

His heart fell. “Oh, god, Dad,” he gasped. He started to step toward him on instinct, only to catch himself, rocking backwards on his heels.

John stepped closer to the line. He looked sweaty, disheveled, and, frankly, irritated. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Looking for _you!_ ”

“Too late,” he said shortly. “I’m stuck in here.”

Stiles yanked on his hair, pacing away and back. “We’ll just have to get you out,” he said, dropping his hands. “Why’d you come this way?” he asked desperately. “You had to know!” 

John’s eyes went steely. “Oh, I knew. Something lured me here. I swear I thought I was right behind those hikers’ kid, then, when I realized I was too close, something pushed me. You need to stand back,” he added. “Listen to me. You tell Parrish he’s in charge. They need to keep everyone out of the preserve as best they can. If something’s luring people here, we need to keep them away.” 

“Dad,” Stiles choked, “I can’t _leave you in there_.”

“You don’t have a choice, son.”

Something growled in the distance, a low, ragged grumbling that made the hair stand up on Stiles’s arms. 

John’s hand dropped to his gun, though his face remained calm. “You need to go now, son. You work on breaking this curse.”

Stiles shook his head, blinking frustrated tears out of his eyes. “You can’t—I’m _not_ leaving you.” 

“There’s no other choice, Stiles! If you come in here, we’ll both be stuck.”

Stiles paced again, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it was making his vision jerk. He wracked his brain for anything, any possible solution that ended with his father away from that vicious sounding snarl. He considered everything he’d learned about big, lasting curses. 

_“Blood.”_

He hesitated, looking around. Had he thought that, or had someone whispered it? 

Parrish walked into sight, looking bewildered, then stunned. “Sheriff?”

John jerked his chin at Stiles. “Get him out of here. I want you all blocking off the preserve. Don’t let anyone in if you can help it. Something lured me here and pushed me over the line. We can’t risk that happening to anyone else.”

_Blood and curses. What do I know about both?_ Stiles skipped sideways when Parrish grabbed for his arm at John’s prompt.

“Wait, wait. Dad, I can switch places with you,” he blurted.

Parrish paused, glancing at John, who looked dubious.

“No, I can. Blood relatives. _Let me try,_ ” he begged. 

“Why the hell would I let you get trapped here in my place, kid?” John asked patiently. “If it worked,” he added. “We don’t know if it would, anyway.”

“Because I’m younger,” Stiles snapped. “And I can find a way to break the curse. I bet there are answers in the Hale house,” he babbled wildly, making things up as he went, anything, _anything_ to get his dad out of there. “I would know if I saw it, if there was a clue or something.”

“Stiles, I’m not going to switch with you,” John said. “I can’t, I won’t. It’s just not going to happen.”

“Jordan,” Stiles said quietly, desperately. “ _You owe me,_ ” he breathed. 

Parrish’s face went tense, but he nodded almost imperceptibly. 

John started to speak, but Stiles leaned forward, only letting his top half breach Hale property. He grabbed John’s shoulders, pulling him partially off balance, and shoved him toward Parrish.

John wobbled on the property line, still partially caught in the curse’s boundaries. 

Stiles inhaled deeply and stepped more fully over the line. 

As soon as he did, John toppled onto Parrish, both of them landing in the dirt with grunts. 

Stiles hastily took three steps back from the line, out of arms’ reach. 

John leaped to his feet, face flushed with fury. 

“Don’t! If you cross, we’re both stuck!” Stiles managed a weak smile. “Someone tell Lydia I figured something out about the Hale curse.”

“Why did you do that?” John demanded. “You think this is better? You think for one second I’m going to be able to leave you? You’ve lost your damn mind if you think that I’m walking away.” 

“You have to,” Stiles pointed out. “Town needs the sheriff.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said again.

“Then you’re being stupid and stubborn,” he said bluntly. Then, while John was still stunned into silence, he said, “ _I’m_ not going to stay right here. I’m going to go to the Hale house and find a way to break this curse.” 

John pinched the bridge of his nose, wiping his eyes furiously. “What’re you going to do about the beast?” he demanded. “I’m _armed_ at least, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand back and watch you get torn apart.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not going to be torn apart.” God, he _hoped_ he wasn’t going to get torn apart, and he _prayed_ that if he did, it wasn’t where John could see. 

Behind him, Parrish had picked himself up and was watching, his knuckles pressed to his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? Just gonna fight it with your bare hands?” John demanded, practically hopping with fury. 

“No, Dad.” Stiles glanced over his shoulder, grimacing slightly. “It’s probably just a dog and everyone just went with the beast thing. I mean, have you ever talked to anyone in town? They love a good curse,” he chattered. “They hate and love a good curse, they like to make it sound creepy and romantic, when really there’s probably a stray dog living in this area.” He shook his head. “I’m going to be fine. I’ll break this curse, then I’ll open a curse breaking business in town, with Lydia’s help, and become famous.” 

John didn’t look amused. “You’re not making me feel better.”

“Sheriff,” Parrish said cautiously. “We can’t get him out without breaking the curse…”

“I know that!” he snapped.

“Dad,” Stiles scolded. “It’s not his fault.”

“No, it’s yours!” John glared at him, his jaw clenching. Finally, he said, “Parrish, round up the deputies, tell them to make sure no one comes into the preserve. I’m going to get you somethings. Just.” He rubbed his hand down his pale, sweaty face. “Just stay there.” He tipped his head back, studying one of the trees that surrounded them. “Maybe climb a tree.”

“No. I’ll stay right here, but I’m not climbing a tree.” He laughed weakly. “Bring me some Reese’s?”

John pressed his lips together, glowering at him for a long moment. “Yeah, alright.” He exhaled and looked so much older for it, old and scared. 

“Can we give things to him without having to cross the line ourselves?” Parrish asked, keeping his distance from John as if he might lunge. 

“ _Things_ can cross the line,” Stiles said. “But to be safe, you should probably use a stick or something to pass the bag over.” He smiled innocently at his dad. 

It wasn’t until he was alone that Stiles was able to absorb his situation. And have his inevitable freak out, full of hair-tugging, sweat, pacing, and swearing. 

“Oh, god, oh god,” he gasped, practically jogging back and forth between a couple of trees. “Fuck. Fuck!” 

Something growled behind him. 

He froze and spun on his heel, eyes rounding with fear. 

A couple yards away stood a yellow wolf—for surely it was too big to be a dog—with its ears tipped forward, studying him. 

As far as “beasts” went, this one was pretty average-looking. Scary as hell, to be sure, with its huge paws and bared, white teeth, but not exactly… _beastly_.

Stiles swallowed with a click, taking an automatic step back.

The wolf’s nose twitched, tail flicking slightly.

“Just stay over there. You have your space and I’ll just…not…move.” He backed up more, until he hit what felt like a wall, a painful line of heat racing down his spine. He yelped and pitched forward, off the property line.

The wolf flinched, backing up and pinning its ears back. It made a noise that sounded almost nervous, a trembling growl as it retreated. 

“Okay…now we’re both freaked out.” Stiles flexed his shoulders—it felt like he had a mild sunburn between his shoulders and it itched. 

The wolf snorted and backed up another step before sitting down. He cocked his head and settled in to watch Stiles. 

“What? Are you waiting for me to fall asleep or turn around or something? Some hunter you are.”

The wolf’s upper lip skimmed back, baring his teeth.

_Hunter._ Stiles frowned at the wolf. “You _are_ a wolf, aren’t you?” he asked anxiously. “You’re not a Hale?”

The wolf yawned widely, tongue rolling out to lick over his teeth. 

“They were werewolves. For all I know, they’re all wandering around here, looking like you. I’ve never seen a werewolf,” he added pointedly. “I could be caught unawares.” 

The wolf coughed and laid down, resting his muzzle on his paws. 

“You could have been a pet, I guess,” Stiles mused, fingers tapping against his leg. “There aren’t supposed to be wild wolves in California, so you being a pet actually makes sense. You’re pretty big, too, so eight years without owners probably wouldn’t stop you from eating.”

He kept talking, even when he got too antsy to keep still and started pacing. The wolf didn’t seem to care one way or the other, eventually closing his eyes and breathing deeply. 

John returned with Stiles’s backpack and a rolled up sleeping bag. He was red faced and panting, like he’d been running, but his flush drained away at the sight of the wolf. 

“Calm down,” Stiles said quickly. “He’s been sitting there practically the whole time you were gone.” He glanced over at the wolf, whose eyes were open again, ears pricked. “He’s kind of a chicken anyway,” he said, grinning.

The wolf let out a little growl, standing up and walking away without a backward glance.

“I let Lydia know where you were,” John said at last. “She’s not happy with you either. Couldn’t get ahold of Scott by phone, so I’m going to stop by the clinic on my way to the department. I brought you food, water, clothes, first aid, and some pepper spray. Do not spray yourself or I will be severely disappointed in you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, toss it all over.” He kept his distance from the line, lest his dad get any ideas. 

John eyed him warily, then, with a defeated shrug, he swung the backpack over first, followed by the sleeping bag. 

“Thanks.” He picked the bag up, testing the weight. “What food did you put in here?” he demanded, shocked by the heft of it.

“As much as I could. You might be in there a while. I’ll make sure someone brings you food as much as possible.” He started to look upset again.

“Let me see if my phone works.” Stiles took it and found six texts—four from Scott, who had apparently finally heard, one from Lydia, and one from Heather. He replied to Lydia, honestly shocked when the _Delivered_ , then _Read_ messages appeared. “I’ve got service,” he told John. “So I can just let you know when I need more!” 

John nodded, pinching his nose. “Kid, I can’t figure out if I’m mad at you or too worried to be pissed.”

Stiles laughed. “You’re my dad. From what I remember of my high school years, you manage both pretty well.” 

John laughed weakly, covering his face. 

“You can go, Dad,” he said gently. “I’ll be okay. I want to walk around a little, find a place to make camp for tonight. You should go.”

“I—” His radio chirped, drawing his attention. “I should go handle the town, yeah. Just—be careful. God.” He shook his head. “I’ll text you later. Get the pepper spray out,” he added, backing away and keeping his eyes on Stiles. 

Stiles figured he wasn’t going to leave without a push, so he hitched the pack on, putting the sleeping bag under one arm. “I’m going to find a spot now. Go relax. I’m gonna break this!” He turned firmly away from his father’s pale, worried face, his stomach knotting with guilt.

“I love you, kid.”

He turned to grin. “Love you too!” He gave a jaunty wave, like it was all perfectly fine, great, even, and kept going, weaving through the trees until he was sure John could no longer see him. 

He fell against a tree to just catch his breath, nearly overcome with guilt at leaving his father there by himself, looking old and tired and alone. 

“Why does everything _suck?_ ” he gasped, leaning his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. 

Something cold and wet touched his palm, making him yelp and leap away, scraping his nose over the bark. 

The yellow wolf was back, much closer this time.

Stiles squinted. “You’re smaller,” he accused it. “Are you even the same wolf?”

A snort, then the wolf sat down, staring at him expectantly. 

“Oh. I beg your pardon, miss,” he said dryly. 

She licked her muzzle and kept watching him.

“Look, you’re just going to have to get used to my presence.”

She kept staring, brown eyes over-bright, ears pricked forward. 

Stiles flung his arms out at his sides. “It’s not like I want to be stuck here! I have friends and family out there! My home. My dad, my job! But I’m stuck _here!_ ” 

She flattened her ears as he shouted, teeth bared even as she backed away, head lowered. 

He swore, making her flinch and whine. “Great, yeah, got any kittens here that I can stomp on, just to round out my douche-baggery for the day?” He swiped at the bridge of his nose, which stung a bit from the fresh scrape.

The wolf watched him warily. Her head was still low, ears still pinned back.

He sighed. “I’m sorry for yelling. You were probably some pampered indoor dog or something.” 

She snorted, stance relaxing some. 

“I didn’t know the Hales,” he admitted. “Everyone says they were good people, friendly and stuff, but, I mean, _everyone_ says that when something bad happens.” He sat down at the base of the tree, settling the backpack by his knee. “Is there anyone left in that big old house?” he asked, plucking at the straps. “Huh? Anyone feeding you?”

She drew herself up and growled softly, as if to say she didn’t need anyone to feed her.

_Dogs don’t understand things like that,_ he reminded himself, laughing nervously. “I, uh, told your friend—brother?—the other one that I never saw the Hales whenever they, like, wolfed out, or whatever. So I don’t know what werewolves look like.” He felt silly for talking, but she was watching him so attentively that it seemed she was listening. “You aren’t a—hey! Where are you going?”

She’d bound away already, disappearing with a flick of her tail.

Stiles huffed and fell back against the tree. “Probably chasing a squirrel or something,” he muttered, irritated. 

Then he started to wonder if he should have followed her, tried to get to the house. 

There might’ve been answers in the house. 

Of course, there might’ve also been a beast of unidentified species in the house, as well as bodies of the Hale family. 

_Would the curse preserve them?_ he wondered, horrified. He’d have to get over it, whatever was in the house, since it might hold his only chance at getting free. 

He swallowed thickly and did the only thing he could think of—he texted his best friend. The sight of his battery at 70% had him grimacing. 

What happened when it died? Even if he _did_ make himself go to the Hale house, would it even have power? Why would it? The bill (probably) hadn’t been paid in eight years. 

_Dude,_ Scott replied, _you gotta go to the house! You can break the curse !! You know you can!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi! This got posted later than usual because I was in Chicago visiting family and just got back to my computer! Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Seriously it's all pretty much pack mom!Stiles and Stiles bonding with the pack up until chapter like seven. Eeek! Sorry. I did tag slow build...

Stiles must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up to weak dawn sunlight streaming through the trees. He was a little cold, having forgotten to use the sleeping bag, but his feet were being kept warm by the bigger yellow wolf, which had stretched itself over him.

He blinked and yawned, rubbing his eyes. He was slightly damp from dew, and there were two ants making their way across the back of his hand. 

He shook them off and yawned again.

The wolf opened one eye when he moved. 

“What?” he mumbled. “You’re the one who fell asleep on me.” 

The wolf yawned widely, flashing fangs as long as Stiles’s thumb. 

Stiles stretched and wiggled his toes, making the wolf grunt and get to his feet. 

He shot Stiles a disgruntled look and stretched, front legs stretched out in front of him, tail in the air.

“Thanks,” he said warily. “For keeping my feet warm.” He pulled his backpack closer and unzipped it, rooting around until he found a packet of unfrosted strawberry Poptarts. He unwrapped it and broke it in half. 

At his feet, the wolf sat down, eyes focused with laser-like intensity on Stiles…or his Poptart. 

“What, you want some? This can’t be good for you.”

The wolf snorted, shaking his head.

“Well, yes, I know they’re not good for me either.” He shrugged and tossed half of the Poptart to the wolf.

The wolf’s teeth snapped the pastry right out of the air, making Stiles laugh. 

“Whoa, nice reflexes.” Amused, he waited until the wolf had finished that piece and tossed another.

Stiles ate the other one himself, watching the wolf watch him. “What do you normally eat, huh? Can’t be strawberry paste inside crumbly crust.” 

The wolf yawned and licked his teeth. 

“I’m very impressed,” Stiles said dryly. “You’re either a werewolf or a highly intelligent canine, and I’m not sure which one I’d prefer. If you’re a werewolf, part of me is insulted you haven’t shifted back to talk to me. You could probably tell me everything I need to know.”

The wolf snorted again.

“Yeah, and then where would the plot be?” he mused, and got to his feet. “I gotta pee, and I can’t do that with you staring at me.” Stiles turned away to pick a spot. 

A huff, followed by rustling that was probably the wolf trotting away. 

_Very smart or a werewolf,_ Stiles thought again.

Since he wasn’t sure what else to do, he found a spot by the property line and sorted through the things in the pack. 

He used some mouthwash and floss in lieu of brushing his teeth, figuring he should save his bottled water for drinking.

He repacked the bag and looked toward the house, grimacing. If there were any answers on Hale property, he bet they’d be in the house. In it, or closer than he was, at least. 

He checked his phone (battery: 52%) and found a message from John telling him to be careful; there was another from Lydia telling him that she was having Lexa look into as much of her grandmother’s things as possible for answers. 

He thanked her and stowed the phone in his pocket.

As he stood up, a wolf crept out of the trees. This one was larger than either of the yellow ones, with brown fur and eyes. Its nose twitched as it sized him up.

“Hi,” he said cautiously. “Where are your friends?”

The wolf let out a soft sigh and began walking slowly away from him, toward the house. 

Stiles pulled the backpack on, put the sleeping bag under his arm, and followed. If this was a fairy tale, he’d might as well follow the rules. 

The brown wolf kept an easy, steady pace, deftly avoiding exposed tree roots and rocks, unlike Stiles. He seemed content to wait until Stiles got his feet under him again every time he tripped, at least. 

“I guess I should wonder where you’re taking me,” Stiles mused aloud. “But it’s not like I have anywhere to be.” 

The wolf let out a little grumble, though it didn’t so much as glance at him.

Stiles checked the time on his phone, getting a branch to the cheek as a reward for his inattention. 

Rubbing his face and wondering _why_ he’d woken at barely six in the morning, Stiles started muttering to himself. He stopped when the wolf let out a grumbling bark sort of noise. 

“Who else am I going to talk to?” he demanded. “And where are we going?” At that moment, he stepped through an alarmingly thick spider web and started sputtering in protest, wiping and slapping at his face and shoulders. 

The wolf _was_ watching him that time, with what looked like amusement in his eyes. 

“Ha-ha, very amusing. Is that what happened to Dr. Deaton and those teenagers?” he snapped. “Do you guys lead them through the woods in the hopes that something horrible happens to them?” 

The wolf sighed deeply, like he was disappointed in him, before turning and walking away with his tail stuck out in offense.

Stiles huffed and followed him. “Well, it’s a good question,” he said. “I haven’t seen them and they _did_ disappear here. Unless you and your buddies ate them…”

The wolf snorted.

“Well, where are they? At the house? Did the beast eat them?” 

He glanced back at Stiles, with as exasperated an expression as he’d ever seen on a canine. And he’d seen dogs dressed in elf costumes. 

“What am I supposed to think, then?” he huffed. “They’re gone! There’s no one here!” 

A small bark startled him, followed by the two yellow wolves barreling toward them. They bumped up against the brown wolf, tails wagging frantically.

“There are no _people_ here. None of the people who’ve gotten trapped, that is.” 

They all stared at him, tails ticking away happily. He started to feel like they were expecting something, so he held out his empty hands.

“I got nothing.” He pulled a hand through his hair and glowered at the brown wolf. “Is this where you were taking me? That’s anticlimactic.” 

The brown wolf snorted and turned around, walking away again. 

The male yellow wolf bumped his head against Stiles’s hand before bolting away to jump on the female, toppling them both to the ground. 

While they rolled and kicked up dirt, the third wolf kept going, calm and apparently above such foolishness. 

They were getting nearer to the house, Stiles could tell. They’d gone the long way, but the trees were starting to thin out and the ground had that flattened sort of look that came from generations of children running over the same spots. 

“I’m not sure I want to go in the house,” Stiles announced. “Not yet. I haven’t decided if I’m afraid I’m going to get eaten or traumatized or not.” 

The yellow wolf—one of them—coughed and butted its head against the back of his legs playfully before running circles around him.

“Hmm.”

He could see the house—it was in pretty good condition considering the eight years—but the brown wolf didn’t turn or even angle toward it.

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. “Where are we going?” 

The smallest wolf nipped at his fingers, making him yelp and jerk his hand away. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Stiles scowled at her. “I’m not sharing my Poptarts with you. Your bro got some, but _he_ didn’t try to eat my fingers first.”

The other yellow wolf yipped and jumped on her, biting her ear. 

The brown wolf stopped abruptly and sat down.

Stiles looked up and hesitated. “A shed? You brought me to a shed?” 

It was painted a brown-green sort of non-color, so it blended pretty well with the woods. 

The wolf tipped its head up and sniffed loudly. 

“Um, okay, I don’t know what that means.” Puzzled, Stiles went to the shed and set his sleeping bag beside the door. 

He kept his backpack on. If he was going to die, he was taking his stuff with him, dammit.

The lock on the shed was broken, as if someone with wire cutters had gotten to it. 

He pulled it off and opened the doors quickly, braced for his fate. 

There two gallon-sized cans of paint in the corner, plenty of spider and cob webs on the ceiling, a broom beside the door, and a crumpled blue tarp in the center of the floor. 

“Am I meant to clean this out?” he demanded, irritated. 

The brown and yellow wolves carried his sleeping bag over to the door and dropped it. 

“Oh. I’m meant to _sleep_ here. Er, thanks.” 

It _was_ technically shelter, which would be good in case of any bad weather. 

Stiles sighed and let his bag slide off of his shoulders. “Alright. You might want to make yourselves scarce. This will be messy.”

The wolves let out happy woofing sounds and bounced around outside of the shed. 

Stiles dragged the tarp out first, shaking it out and evicting the spiders that had been nesting there. Also a very disgruntled moth was dislodged. 

He folded it and set it aside, going back for the paint. 

Once that was out, he took a shirt from his pack and tied it around his face, then used the broom to knock the webs down. 

A huge fucking spider dropped onto his shoe and had him running for cover, inadvertently turning his sneaker into California’s smallest thrill ride for arachnids before he got the bright idea to use the broom to flick it into the foliage. 

Huffing and puffing, Stiles went back to the shed, broom clutched like a bat.

“It’s not funny,” he muttered. “I wasn’t prepared for an aerial attack.” He reentered the shed and started again, this time keeping a careful eye on the ceiling. He made sure not to stand under the broom, because one monster spider was enough. 

He swept the floor next, kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt until it was deemed clean enough. 

“Well, now I’m sweaty and gross, but at least I’ll have a roof over my head tonight,” he mused. He stripped off his shirts and set them on his bag so the sweat could dry while he took the tarp in.

It smelled like mildew, but he figured having some extra padding to sleep on was worth the smell. 

The wolves crowded in to see his handiwork when he backed out to get his sleeping bag. 

“You guys gonna protect me from bears?” he asked, amused. He spread his sleeping bag over the tarp, then set his backpack at the foot of it.

The yellow wolf butted up against him, rumbling and wagging his tail. 

“Yeah, yeah. You just want more food.” 

A howl rent the air suddenly, sending a chill up Stiles’s spine. The wolves all went tense, ears pricked. 

Stiles wondered if he’d been led to his coffin, the half-hysterical thought that he’d spruced it up for himself flashing through his mind. 

The howl trailed off like a question, and the wolves tipped their heads this way and that before the yellow male harrumphed and picked his way out of the shed. 

The other two relaxed and stood up, bumping against Stiles’s legs and grumbling like they were talking.

He frowned and shuffled around them. The female wiggled between him and the door, front half bowed down in the universal pose of dog-at-play.

Stiles hesitated, hand held out. 

Beyond her, he saw a tall, fair streak fly by through the trees, toward the Hale house. 

He jerked back. “Whoa, what the fuck?” After his brain had processed the image, he stepped toward the door. “Who was that? That was a _person_. Not a wolf! Unless he was a werewolf?”

The brown wolf body-checked him gently until he backed up from the door. 

“Are _you two_ werewolves? Was that guy the one I shared my Poptart with? What the hell!” 

Stiles had lived in a town of magic, curses, witches, sorceresses, and werewolves his whole life. The fact of their existence didn’t bother him so much as the lack of answers he had about his whole situation. 

“Seriously! This isn’t funny. If you’re werewolves, the least you could do is let me know!”

The wolves glanced at each other, then back at him. Their eyes lit up gold.

Stiles yelped and leaped back, tripping over his backpack and sprawling over the floor. His left elbow sang with agony, a hot trickle alerting him to split skin. 

The yellow wolf snorted, unimpressed. 

“You didn’t have to scare me,” he muttered. He sat up and examined his elbow, hissing at the scrape. “A nod or something would have sufficed.”

The brown wolf grumbled and crept closer to him, nosing at the blood on his elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got a first aid kit.” He pulled his bag to him, pouting, and dug for the kit. He propped it on his knee and opened it one-handed. 

The wolves—the _werewolves_ —watched him carefully wipe the blood and grit out of the cut, then smear Neosporin on it, followed by a band aid.

“Are you Hales?” he asked, as the thought occurred to him. “Or…some other werewolves?” 

The brown wolf sneezed explosively, making the yellow one jump and bat at his head.

“Okay, that’s helpful.” He shoved the first aid kit back in his bag and scowled at them. “So, what, I’m trapped here _and_ a hostage now?”

The yellow wolf let out a little impatient chuff and flounced out of the shed, flicking her tail. The brown wolf followed her sedately. 

Stiles took that to mean they thought he was ridiculous, which irritated him. He thought _they_ were ridiculous, letting him talk at them like a crazy person, thinking no one was paying attention.

He got to his feet, embarrassed and annoyed, and went outside. 

The wolves were nowhere in sight. Stiles frowned, curling his hand around the door of the shed. He felt very alone suddenly, like they’d abandoned him. 

Snorting and shaking his head, he pulled his phone out and leaned against the wall to text Lydia. 

‘ **There are three werewolves here.** ’

‘ **Talk to them,** ’ was her instant reply.

‘ **No shit?** ’ He rolled his eyes. ‘ **They haven’t changed to human form. I thought they were pets of the Hales—they were too friendly to be wild—but things happened and their eyes turned gold when I asked if they were werewolves** ’

His phone rang the instant the message said _Read._

“Yeah?”

“Explain.” Lydia’s voice was cool and clinical—probably already at the library. 

Stiles relayed everything he’d seen and done with the (were)wolves dutifully, checking his battery and cringing occasionally. 

“Okay. I’ve written all of this down. Are they Hales?”

“I’m not sure. I told you, they haven’t been sharing much.”

“What about the four people who got trapped there before you?”

Stiles grimaced. “I haven’t seen any sign of them.”

Lydia sighed loudly. “No. Are they the wolves, Stiles?”

He blinked and flushed. “Well, why the hell would I think that?” he demanded. “How would they become werewolves?”

“That’s what you should be trying to find out.” Lydia tapped her fingers. “Why haven’t you gone to the house?”

“What if their bodies are in there?” he mumbled.

Lydia hummed softly. “Right. Well, work on the wolves, I guess. Oh. Tomorrow at eight, I’m bringing you a portable charging cell for your phone. You’ll have to figure something else out once _that_ dies, but I’ve got some ideas.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks.” 

“You’ll break the curse,” she said lightly. “Or we will together. Shouldn’t take too long.” 

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, should be a breeze.”

“I’m going to do some research now. You, too. Field work. Bye.”

She hung up before he could respond. 

He scowled at the phone. 

“Your name is Stiles? Like…Stilinski?” a male voice asked hesitantly from behind him.

He turned slowly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually I'll start posting 2 chapters a week, because once a week is VERY DIFFICULT for me. D: Anyway, let me know what you think so far! It all moves very slowly, I apologize.

A curly haired guy stood a few feet away from the door of the shed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He was tall, though he stood in a slouch, like he was more comfortable being short. 

He had a familiar face. Stiles couldn’t quite place it, as if he’d known him when he was more baby-faced.

“Uh, yeah,” he said when the guy started to look anxious. He put his phone in his pocket. “Are you…Poptarts?”

The guy flashed a fanged smile that, for its sharpness, was surprisingly sweet. “Yes. Thanks for that. I’m Isaac.” 

The name had memories opening up in Stiles’s mind like a photo album. 

“Isaac _Lahey_ ,” he said with recognition. 

Isaac had been a benchwarmer on the lacrosse team with Stiles and Scott in high school, though they barely interacted. He’d been the fourth person to wander onto Hale property and get trapped. Stiles vaguely remembered the search party, which had been disappointing—everyone knew he’d gotten stuck. 

“Yeah,” Isaac mumbled. “We went to school together.” He flicked a wary glance at Stiles’s face, then away. 

“I remember.” Stiles patted his legs awkwardly. “Why didn’t you let me know you were a werewolf earlier?” 

Isaac shrugged, backing away slightly. “Was nervous. You switched places with the sheriff. How’d you know that would work?”

“I work in curse breaking. I read about all sorts of curses every day. It was an educated guess.” Stiles bit the inside of his lip. “Do you know anything about the three other people that got stuck here?”

He nodded warily.

Stiles sighed softly. Apparently, getting answers out of Isaac was going to be interesting. “Are they living here?” 

“Yes.” He looked amused. “Where else would they go?”

“They haven’t been eaten or mauled?”

Isaac’s eyes widened. “No! Why would we do that?”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“We—we, oh, damn. We as in me and the other wolves.” He scowled at Stiles. “Isn’t that what you were talking about?”

“No…there’s supposed to be some sort of beast on Hale land. To punish intruders, or something.”

Isaac shrugged jerkily. “There’s no _beast._ ”

Stiles frowned. “Huh.” He looked over Isaac’s shoulder, toward where the house was. “What about the Hales?”

“What about them?” he muttered. His shoulders were tense, jaw set, like he was bracing for a blow. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Stiles asked.

Isaac hesitated, looking confused, so Stiles lifted his brows. A shy smile broke over his face. “Sure. Thank you.”

Stiles went into the shed to his backpack, kneeling beside it until Isaac followed him.

There were several packets of beef jerky, but he shoved past those to the premade PB&Js. Stiles figured he could save the jerky for when he got really desperate. 

“Thank you. All we eat is what we catch,” Isaac said excitedly. “It’s great, but I miss stuff. It’s been _years_ since I had human food.” 

Stiles grinned and passed him two of the sandwiches. “You’re welcome.” He unwrapped one for himself. “If you’ve got any requests, I can probably get my dad or friends to bring stuff.”

“How are you going to charge your phone?” He’d already polished off a sandwich.

Stiles dropped a hand to his pocket automatically. “Ah, my friend Lydia is going to bring me a portable charger. After _that_ dies, I guess I’ll have to figure something else out.”

“Lydia…Martin?” The names were separated by him swallowing his mouthful. “You’re friends with her now?” he asked incredulously. 

Stiles flushed at the reminder of his horribly obvious and somewhat creepy crush. “Yeah, we work together now. Turns out, when I’m not being the creepy “friendzone” guy, we make a pretty good team. She’s crazy smart, and I’m not so bad myself.” He grinned and licked some jelly from his thumb.

“And you guys work at the library?” Isaac asked dubiously.

“We break curses,” Stiles said defensively. He couldn’t say why he felt so insulted by Isaac’s tone. “It’s just a summer job,” he added.

Isaac shrugged. “I heard you talking to Sheriff Stilinski about breaking curses professionally, so I thought it was sort of like a—a curse breaker PI sort of thing. I didn’t realize it was at the library.” He picked at the sandwich wrapper. He seemed embarrassed. 

Stiles chewed for a minute, contemplating. “We’re thinking about doing that,” he said. “We think we’d be good at it. Obviously, I have to get out of here first.” He looked around and sighed. 

“The Hales have an enormous home library,” Isaac said. 

Stiles’s gaze snapped up. “Really? What kind of books?”

He shifted, uncomfortable. “All kinds. Fiction, non-fiction, horror, mystery. I think, um, Mrs. Hale and her brother liked to collect old books. A lot of them don’t have titles, just really detailed pictures on the covers.”

Stiles nodded slowly. He could bet the answer was in there—or, if not, then at least a lot of information they didn’t have before, which could lead to Stiles _figuring out_ the answer. 

The idea of finding answers was nearly tempting enough for him to ask Isaac to take him to the house. The image of gray, lifeless bodies scattered over the floor like broken dolls rose, unbidden, to his mind, so sharp that he recoiled physically.

“I don’t think I can go in there,” he muttered. 

Isaac looked surprised. “Uh, okay. If you’re sure.” He shrugged.

Stiles swallowed and took a deep, steadying breath. “How did you become a werewolf? You weren’t one when you got trapped.”

“How do _you_ know I wasn’t?” he asked suspiciously.

“Were you? I was just guessing.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He looked uncomfortable again.

Stiles smiled. “Okay, then. How did you become one?”

He bit on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then he smiled back. “The alpha bit and changed me.”

Stiles scowled at him. “Oh- _kay_. Who’s the alpha?” he asked, exasperated.

“Give me your trash. I’ll take care of it.” Isaac stood up and held a hand out.

“Are you just going to pretend I didn’t ask the questions you don’t want to answer?”

“Yes.” He grinned.

“Why?!” Stiles demanded, flinging his hands up. His sandwich wrapper, which had been in his left hand, flew through the air and began a lazy, uneven descent toward the ground.

Isaac snatched it out of the air. “’Cause then where would the plot be?” he asked, smirking, before he bolted out of the shed with the sandwich wrappers. 

“You weren’t _helpful!_ ” Stiles yelled. He crossed his arms and thumped back against the side of the shed to pout. It shuddered dangerously around him.

He wasted time texting Scott, Heather, and John, letting them know he was alive. He told Lydia alone about Isaac. His battery was at 12% by two pm.

Going (slightly) out of his mind, he decided there was only so much he could handle, sitting in the shed, and left his pack there while he went to walk around a bit. 

It didn’t matter much. After about twenty minutes of meandering, he found the property line. He followed along the curve until he realized, as the trees thinned, that he was practically in the Hales backyard. 

There were rusted bikes lying on their sides, a pair of ruined work boots kicked off by the door, a scatter of colorful children’s toys by what had once been a sandbox. 

Stiles grimaced and turned to walk away, finding the two werewolves from earlier watching him. “I’m not going in there,” he grumbled.

The brown wolf heaved a sigh.

“Not yet,” he amended. “If there’s no other option, I will. I’m gonna end up in there,” he muttered. “I know it. We all know it. But I would like to live in denial for a bit.”

The yellow wolf snorted derisively. 

“Please. You’re one to talk. Too scared to show me your face.”

She bared her teeth, eyes flashing gold. A ripple went over her fur, but it stopped when the brown wolf laid his muzzle on top of her head. She grumbled but settled. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Where’d Isaac go?”

“Right here,” he said from directly behind Stiles, making him jump about a foot off the ground. 

“You suck,” he managed, rubbing the heel of his hand against his racing heart. “Trying to kill me?”

Isaac smirked, fangs flashing. “If I was,” he said pleasantly, “you wouldn’t have had time to jump.”

“Ha-ha,” Stiles muttered sourly, though he’d be lying if he said his heart hadn’t jumped in fear. This was, clearly, not the timid kid he went to school with. “I come here to rescue you all and I get this?”

Isaac snorted. “You’re stuck here, too.”

“So if I find a way out, you _don’t_ want to come?” Stiles sneered.

Solemnly, Isaac said, “I was born and raised in Beacon Hills. You’re not the only one here who crossed the line on purpose.”

Well, that was certainly something to think about.

And it was surprising enough to shut Stiles up the whole walk back to the shed.

Isaac must have led him the long way, because it was creeping toward sunset when they reached the shed. 

“Um, I asked Lydia if she could bring us some fruit…” he hedged, awkward. “I figured you guys probably haven’t had any in a while. If you want something specific, I could ask?”

“Green apples,” Isaac said immediately. “ _Please._ ”

Stiles chuckled and added that to the list he’d sent Lydia, telling her to use his check from the library (they hadn’t updated to direct deposit yet, which was…fun). 

‘ **I was going to anyway C:** ’

The smiley face was completely sarcastic, he was sure, as she’d never used one to show genuine happiness through text in their entire friendship. 

He rolled his eyes and put his phone away (9% and he was going to cry when it finally went dead). 

“Thanks,” Isaac said cheerily.

“You’re welcome. She’s coming tomorrow morning.” Which meant Stiles had plenty of time to sit and ponder his phone’s dwindling battery and all the questions he had that Isaac wasn’t answering.

At some point after dark, his phone died. He gave up trying to entertain himself in the dark and crawled into his sleeping bag, using his pack for an unsatisfactory pillow. 

Isaac seemed content stretching out on the other side of the shed while the other two wolves crowded along Stiles’s sides. 

 

“Holy god, get _off!_ ” 

Greeting the morning soaked in sweat and tangled with fur and sleeping bag put a bit of a damper on Stiles’s mood.

The amused smirk on Isaac’s face did not help.

The other two scrambled off him as he sat up.

“Okay, so, it’s plenty warm in here over night,” Stiles declared, wiping his face. “Please don’t smother me.”

The yellow wolf made a sort of high pitched “ra-ra” noise, her paws in the air as she wriggled around on her back.

“Ha.” He kicked the sleeping bag until he’d freed his legs. 

He pushed open the door to let in a breeze, cooling the sweat on his face and neck. 

The sun was already rising outside, burning away the morning mist that had crept in overnight. 

He had no idea what time it was—wearing a watch was just a waste of money, as he was always banging into things and would probably break it.

“I guess I should probably head toward the line…Lydia’s coming at eight.”

“Can we have another Poptart?” Isaac asked hopefully. He stretched his arms above his head. 

“Sure. Get one out of my bag, we can eat it while we walk.” Stiles was more excited about the prospect of fruit than the Poptart, but he could understand Isaac’s eagerness. 

Three years living on what he could catch in the woods? Yeah, Stiles could see missing any junk food he could get ahold of. 

Since the other two wolves followed them out of the shed, Stiles broke up his Poptart to share with them, which seemed to please them. 

The yellow wolf pranced circles around him, tail high. 

Stiles rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, I gave you a Poptart anyway. I’m a nice guy like that.”

She snapped her teeth at his leg, making him bolt forward and nearly trip over the other wolf.

Isaac laughed at him, spraying pastry crumbs everywhere. 

“Gross.”

“Hey, look.” Isaac pointed at a cluster of small purple flowers. “That’s wolfsbane. There’s a lot around here, because we’re here—er, werewolves. It’s really poisonous to us—to you, too, but not as badly.” 

He sounded like a student boasting what he knew to a teacher, which made Stiles smile a little.

“I know. My friend, Heather, has a flower shop. She has poisonous plants, too, for curse breaking. She took it over from her uncle.” 

Isaac nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. 

The rest of the walk was relatively quiet. The two wolves would occasionally dart off to chase poor, unsuspecting wildlife. 

Isaac located the part of the line where Stiles had crossed over. He slyly admitted that he could smell Stiles’s scent in that particular area pretty well.

“Because you paced around here so much that first day,” he explained. He cocked his head, then gestured at the two wolves. “Lydia’s almost here,” he said, before the three of them melted into the shadows of the trees.

“Well, _that_ wasn’t creepy,” Stiles muttered, scowling. 

Lydia came into view a couple minutes later. She was wearing a skirt and heels, and looked far more put-together than she should have after hiking through the woods. 

“Good morning. You look like crap.” She swung a reusable grocery bag neatly over the property line; it landed directly on his left foot.

“Thanks, I guess.” He ran a hand over his face. “How’s my dad?” 

“Working hard. He and a couple of deputies come to the library and do research whenever they aren’t working.” She frowned at him. “I expect you to work just as hard as the rest of us. I’ve put a notebook and pens in that bag, and written down some notes and theories. Once we have ideas, we can get the possible ingredients from Heather and start testing things.” 

“I don’t think it’s that kind of curse.” Stiles shrugged. “But if it is, that’d be great. Simple, too.”

“We can’t rule out simple solutions just because the curse itself _appears_ complex. For all we know, the reason it hasn’t been broken is because someone inside needs to break it.” She gave him a pointed look.

“Right.” He shrugged. “I swear, I’ll get working on it. I don’t want to be stuck here forever.”

“Good. The sheriff said he’s going to come by with food for you tonight.” 

“Okay. Thank you, Lydia.” 

She sighed. “You’re no use to me in there.” She smiled a little before turning and walking away.

Isaac returned once she was out of sight. “She’s changed,” he observed. “I don’t remember her like that.”

Stiles frowned at him. “Huhhh?” He remembered, then, how Lydia had been in sophomore year, and before then, her too-pretty-for-being-smart façade until junior year, which was about when Isaac disappeared. “Oh, right. Lydia’s a fucking genius, man. I told you. She could rule us all if she had a mind to.” He picked up the bag. “Luckily for us, she chose to bring us food instead.”

Isaac practically wiggled in place when Stiles unearthed an apple for him. He caught it one handed and bit in immediately, not even giving it a cursory wipe on his t-shirt. 

Stiles laughed a little and got an orange for himself—it was one of the little ones meant for children that could be easily peeled with fingers. He sat down, crossed his legs, and started eating a couple.

The brown wolf came sniffing then, so, grinning, Stiles shared a couple with him.

“I guess I should start doing some work,” Stiles sighed, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Wolfsbane could be an answer.” He tossed a slice of orange to the brown wolf.

Isaac was picking the seeds out of his apple core before tossing it to the yellow wolf. 

“Is Dr. Deaton…still around?” he asked casually, glancing toward the brown wolf.

“Yeah. He’s in the house, though. He’s not a ’wolf,” Isaac said. He snapped his teeth at the yellow wolf playfully, making her bare her teeth protectively over her apple core. 

Stiles scowled at the brown wolf. “Who _are_ you two?”

Isaac avoided his gaze. “Why don’t you charge your phone while we sit here?” 

Stiles grumbled to himself while he got the charger out, attaching it to his phone with jerky movements. He pulled the notebook into his lap while he was at it. “Can animals cross the line?” he asked, scanning over Lydia’s notes.

“We can’t, even in wolf form,” Isaac said instantly.

“But regular animals?”

He shrugged. “It’s never stopped deer or birds from crossing back and forth.” 

Stiles hummed. “Good. Lydia had an idea.” 

Isaac furrowed his brows, so Stiles tapped his pen on the page. 

“We can try a police dog. Mainly for passing the charging cell back and forth. She’s guessing if I throw anything, it won’t go over.”

“It won’t,” Isaac confirmed. “But we’ve never tried sending anything over with an animal. Anything big enough to carry stuff was, well, lunch.”

“A police dog might work, then. They listen.” Stiles jotted this down next to Lydia’s notes. 

“How would that help to break the curse, though?” Isaac wondered. 

“Any info is more than we had,” Stiles explained. “The more we understand about the curse—its rules, limitations, what it does—the better chance we have of breaking it.” Stiles lifted his brows. “Anything you wanted to tell me?”

Isaac hesitated, but ultimately shook his head and dropped his gaze. 

Stiles sighed. “You two could help, you know,” he muttered.

The yellow wolf snorted and rolled onto her back, batting her paws at Isaac’s arm.

“Thanks,” Stiles said dryly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! Enjoy! I'm already prepping for NaNo, super excited about it! ^^

Stiles managed to ignore the first drop, and the second, snorting in his sleep and swiping at his face. He grunted when more water landed on his head, one drop slipping into his ear. 

He blinked awake when thunder rumbled, and more rain came through the roof of the shed. 

One of the wolves near him yipped and jumped to its feet. 

Stiles yawned and sat up, wiping his face.

Lightning flashed—Stiles caught a glimpse of the wolf beside him and realized Isaac had shifted back at some point. His clothes were spread out over the floor. 

“It’s a storm,” he muttered. He squinted up as rain poured in from what was apparently an abundance of holes in the roof.

The other two wolves woke up and shook themselves.

Isaac butted his head against Stiles’s arm. 

“What?” he whined. “I’m already tired and wet.” 

He nudged him again.

“Stop it.” He reached for his backpack, intending to look for a hoodie or something, only to get knocked forward. “Ow! Stop it!” 

Outside, more thunder cracked, followed by brighter, closer lightning. 

The other two were on their feet as well, tails lowered.

Stiles stood up, rubbing rain off his face. “What do you want?” he snapped. “I can’t stop the rain!” 

The rain poured in; Stiles snatched his backpack off the floor before the water could puddle and ruin his stuff. 

Isaac bumped against the backs of his thighs, sending him stumbling forward a step.

“What? You want me to go _outside?_ ” Stiles swung the bag over his shoulders and scowled. “Not happening! It’s better in here than it would be out there.”

The female wolf lunged forward, snapping her teeth just inches short of Stiles’s leg.

He yelped and leaped back, bumping the door open.

Cool rain slipped down the back of his shirt, making him shudder.

Before he could bolt back into the shed—some shelter was better than none at all—the brown wolf jumped at him, teeth flashing in the lightning. 

Stiles yelped and backed away again, skidding in the mud forming outside. “What the hell? Isaac?”

He snorted and snapped his teeth, too, but he didn’t move toward Stiles.

All three of them were baring their teeth, eyes glowing in the dark.

Stiles found himself backing further away, his breath starting to huff in fear as they advanced on him.

It didn’t matter that he knew one of these animals, at least, had been a classmate, once—he only saw the glowing gold eyes and sharp teeth. He turned and ran. 

He stumbled over some roots, but he didn’t hit the ground—he managed to catch himself on tree trunks and push himself off again. 

It was so dark that he could barely see a foot in front of him, except when lightning would flash, illuminating the woods in brief snapshots. It didn’t help so much as send more adrenaline washing through his veins. The only sound he could hear over the rain and thunder was canine panting directly behind him.

Whenever he’d slow down, the scrape of teeth against denim would send him running again.

“You guys have lost your fucking minds,” he gasped, nearly running headfirst into a tree. He tried to dash left, to lose them, but Isaac body checked him back into place. It was then that he realized they were herding him somewhere. “What is your _problem?_ ” he yelled over the rain.

Low snarls and barks answered him, sent him running harder. 

He slammed, shins-first, into something hard. He fell forward, catching himself with his palms, and realized he’d hit steps. 

He straightened and tried to back away, but one of the wolves bumped him from behind, gentle compared to how they’d been moments ago.

A flash of forked lightning illuminated the porch Stiles was kneeling before. He’d been chased to the Hale house. 

“Okay,” he gasped, “okay, I’ll go in.”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, making him jump hard. It felt like his heart was going to give out. “Good!” Isaac shouted.

Stiles nodded and stepped aside, blinking rain out of his eyes dazedly.

The wolves and a _very naked_ Isaac bolted past him, throwing the door open. 

Stiles’s gut clenched in fear, but Isaac had already returned to drag him up the stairs. 

He fought at the door, flailing, grabbing at the door frame to stop their progress. 

Apparently with the ability to change into a wolf came super-strength, because Isaac didn’t even slow down; he just lifted Stiles over the threshold and dumped him onto a hardwood floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, heart hammering painfully. He flinched when Isaac slammed the door behind him. 

Isaac clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles, there’s a bedroom right over here. You can open your eyes,” he said loudly, like he thought Stiles couldn't hear him.

Stiles pried one eye open. “No bodies?” he rasped. 

Isaac let out a weird, high pitched laugh. “No. God. We’re not _savages._ This is the foyer, right beside the dining room.” 

Stiles sniffled and opened his eyes. He realized he was shivering. “How is it so cold in here?” he muttered. He let Isaac help him to his feet. He swayed in place slightly. 

“Because the air conditioning is on,” he said dryly. “C’mon, you’re dripping everywhere.” 

Now that he was out of the rain, and not being chased by wolves and scared out of his mind, he felt stupid with exhaustion, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. He felt limp.

“Bedroom,” Isaac prompted, giving Stiles a gentle shove. “—me some towels, please? …You scared him, that’s why, asshole.” 

Another voice muttered something back, but Stiles couldn’t quite understand what was said.

Stiles blinked at a bed that seemed to appear like a mirage in front of him. Isaac must have been leading him. 

The bedspread was covered with a pile of huge beach towels, with pillows scattered at the head of it and blankets stripped to the floor. 

“Go lay down.” Isaac pointed at the bed.

Stiles blinked blearily at him until he shoved him again.

He fell face first onto the bed and passed out with his shoes and backpack on.

 

He woke with a grunt sometime later. His face felt gummy and gross, his clothes stiff. At some point, someone must have removed his backpack and shoes while he slept. He suspected Isaac. 

He yawned and rubbed his face, turning his head to the left.

Isaac was on the bed beside him, sleeping soundly. Thankfully, he’d gotten dressed before getting into the bed. 

There was a leg tossed over Stiles’s, one that didn’t belong to Isaac. Stiles turned, following the leg—the nails were painted brilliant red—up to the body of a blonde woman clad in a long, gray shirt. 

Like Isaac, she looked vaguely familiar, even with her tousled blonde curls covering most of her face. 

There was an arm tossed over her waist, indicating a _third_ person squeezed onto the bed with them. 

Stiles grimaced and tried to figure a way to get out of bed without shaking it too much—Isaac grumbled when he tried to sit up, and Stiles froze. 

He sighed and decided scooting down the bed feet first was his only way. He inched his way to freedom and thought about the times he’d gotten out of bed without waking Scott. They’d both been much smaller, of course, and he could usually just roll off the edge of bed. 

His feet were just about to touch the floor when Isaac sat up, yawning.

“What’re you doing?” he slurred, wiping one eye.

Stiles scowled. “Trying to get up without waking anyone. Who’re they?”

He got off the bed quickly, figuring he was better off now that Isaac was awake. 

“Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd.”

Stiles frowned. “I don’t remember them…I think their names sound familiar. From when my dad was searching for them.” 

“They’re a couple years older than us. They’ve been here for like, five years.”

Stiles nodded slowly, glancing around the room. It seemed to be a guest room, devoid of any personal touches beyond crystal figurines on top of the dresser beside the window. 

His backpack and shoes were on the other side of the room, beside the closet door.

“Why…?” 

“Why what?” Isaac asked, watching him cross the room.

“Why did you guys chase me here? You scared the shit out of me.” He scowled down at his things, remembering the terror of being hunted in the dark of the night before. 

“The storm was getting bad, and we thought you might like being in a bed for the night. The lightning scared us,” he added with a sheepish shrug. 

Stiles frowned. “Thanks,” he muttered. His legs were spattered with mud, up to the thighs. 

“You can probably stay in here now. Instead of out in that shed,” Isaac said hopefully. “We’ll ask.” 

Stiles knelt beside his bag to dig out clothes, his phone, and some food. His father had messaged him sometime early that morning, asking if he was okay after last night’s storm.

‘ **Yeah,** ’ he responded quickly. ‘ **Found shelter in the Hale house. Gonna investigate today. I might need some supplies though.** ’

‘ **Good. Be safe. Let me know if you need anything.** ’

Stiles set the phone aside and picked up his clothes. “Is there anywhere I can change? And use the bathroom?”

Isaac’s brows raised in amusement. “You changed outside yesterday.”

“It’s _different_ when you’re all…human.” He hunched his shoulders. 

“There’s a bathroom directly to the left of this room.” Isaac’s nostrils flared. “Can I have some?” he asked hopefully.

Stiles laughed and tossed him a packet of trail mix before standing up and going to the door. He still hesitated to grab the knob, despite knowing there weren’t bodies out in the front hall. He let out a little breath and opened the door quickly, like ripping off a band aid.

The hall was empty, save for a little window right across from him, a long table under it with an empty vase in the center. 

Stiles frowned and looked to the left. There was a door, cracked open. He shrugged and crept into it.

The bathroom was clean and sparse—there was a shower/tub combination on the far wall, with a brown shower curtain pulled in front of it—Stiles couldn’t help throwing the curtain aside to check to see if there was anything behind it—there wasn’t. The counter was white and clean, with soap and little paper cups and hand towels set along it, under the mirror. 

Stiles sighed and tried the light switch—he jumped when the four lights set above the mirror flicked on. “There’s _power_ here?” he demanded loudly. 

He could hear Isaac laughing and slammed the door. He narrowed his eyes at the sink and twisted the cold handle. “ _And_ water?!” 

More laughter.

Irritated, Stiles used the toilet, washed his hands, and changed, then bundled his wrinkled, mud-spattered clothes to his chest and stomped to the room. 

“We have a washer,” Isaac said lightly. The trail mix bag lay empty by his leg.

“ _How_ does this house still have power and water?” Stiles yelped. 

“Why did you think it was so cool in here? The air is on.”

“ _How?_ ” Stiles insisted. 

“The Hales had their bills on an automatic bill pay, monthly. It gets paid every month. They’re _loaded._ ” 

“Were,” Stiles said.

Isaac looked uncomfortable, but before Stiles could prod at him for that, he reached out and tugged at Erica’s hair. “Wake up!”

She smacked at his hands, growling as she sat up. “Stop it! Why?” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and glowered at Isaac, then at Stiles. “Oh, hi.” She flashed a fanged smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” He didn’t know what to say to her, so he looked at Isaac. “So I can charge my phone in here? And cook?” 

“Yes. But we don’t have any food here _to_ cook.” 

Erica turned to the other guy on the bed—Vernon, Isaac had said—and shook him awake. “Why were you so afraid to come in here anyway? You practically passed out!” She sounded gleeful. 

Stiles grimaced. “I thought, um, that the Hale family…I thought maybe they were…”

“Ewwwww,” Erica decided. “Ew. Did you think we _killed_ them?” 

“No! I thought—you know—the _beast_ did it!”

Erica looked at Isaac, and they both promptly burst into laughter. 

“Um, _no_.” She prodded Vernon again. “Hey, Boyd. Stiles thinks the, uh, ha, _beast_ ate the Hales.”

 _Boyd_ snorted and sat up. “Who told you that?” he demanded. 

Stiles scowled. “No one? It’s just—where are they, then?” he asked defensively, crossing his arms over his dirty clothes. 

“ _No one_ ate the Hales,” Isaac said loudly. “Can we please stop talking about that?”

“Um. Can I wash my clothes, then?”

“Sure. We don’t have any laundry detergent, though,” Erica said brightly. 

Stiles gaped at her, then shook his head. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He scowled. “I guess I’ll ask my dad to bring some. And some _food_. If you don’t mind me cooking.” He brightened. “I can’t believe there’s electricity in here!” He shook his clothes out straight and set them beside his backpack, then pulled his notebook out of the side pocket, and his pen. It had gotten damp the night before, so the pages were wrinkled, but had dried in the hours between then and now.

“So…library?” he asked, turning his head and grinning.

Isaac glanced at his companions. 

Boyd shrugged. 

“We can ask,” Erica said lightly. 

Isaac grimaced. “Okay.” 

They seemed to be communicating with their eyes, head tilts, and eyebrow movements. They got up before Stiles could ask, so, bemused, he followed them as they trailed out of the room. 

The house had a distinct lack of dust, like it was well tended, which didn’t mesh with the images he’d had floating around his imagination of some decaying old building. 

Isaac led the way to the foyer where they’d come in, past the pile of towels obviously tossed down to soak up their mess. 

They entered a dining room with a long, clean wooden table lined with about fifteen matching chairs. There were frames on the walls, but they were empty, which was…odd.

“Don’t ask,” Erica advised him. 

“Why?” he asked warily. 

“Because we won’t answer!” She laughed and jumped onto Boyd’s back, nipping his jaw playfully. 

Isaac rolled his eyes, skirting around the table to the opposite opening of the room. He hesitated at the darkened doorway. 

A voice spoke, then, guttural and strange. “The guest may use the first floor,” he rasped. “But do not go to the second floor or the basement.” The tone was a warning, and Stiles shuddered. 

“You got it. Have you ever heard of Bluebeard?” Stiles babbled, clenching his fists in surprise when Boyd let out a snort of laughter. 

Isaac muttered something, to which the voice responded with low growling noises. “Cool,” Isaac said brightly. “Library’s on the first floor.”

“Who was _that_?” Stiles asked, trying to lean around Isaac, who leaned with him. 

“The alpha,” he said. He added quietly, “Please don’t.”

Stiles looked up at him, then shrugged. “Okay, whatever you say. As long as I’m not causing trouble or about to get dismembered for trespassing. _Excelsior!_ Er, could you take me to the library, please?” he asked sheepishly. 

Isaac rolled his eyes and gestured at Boyd, who stepped around them, shook Erica off his back, and stepped through the doorway Isaac had been speaking into. 

“Come on. The library is this way,” Erica said, grabbing Stiles’s free hand and pulling him behind her. 

They left the dining room and turned right; Stiles caught a glimpse of a spacious living room before Erica was throwing open a door to their right. 

“Ta- _daa_ ,” she sang, laughing. “Knock yourself out.” 

The bookshelves were well tended—there didn’t seem to be any dust on them, just like the rest of the house (the parts that Stiles had seen, anyway), and the windows were thrown open wide, letting in sunshine and fresh air. 

There were cushy arm chairs spread throughout the room, clearly an invitation to grab a book and stay a while, along with various small tables set around. There seemed to be a desk pushed into one corner, a lamp set upon it. 

“Oh, man. The shelves are labeled by _genre_. I want a library like this when I grow up,” Stiles sighed wistfully. 

Isaac laughed. “Do you need help? What exactly are you looking for? Um, non-fiction is over there,” he added. 

Stiles sucked his lips into his mouth for a second, thinking. “The books I need might not be strictly classified as non-fiction. I’ll just have to pick a place to start and go from there.” He glanced at Erica. “You don’t know anything else about this curse, do you? The more I know, the faster I can break it.” 

She shook her head. “You’ll just have to work extra hard.” She grinned and snagged a book off the _Fantasy_ shelf, flopping into a chair and removing the dust jacket. 

“Yeah, no surprise there.” He set his notebook on a chair and started in non-fiction, because it seemed sensible. 

The titles ranged from magical theories to biographies about presidents, which amused Stiles. He took the magical theories book, and one about sorceresses. He hesitated when he spotted a well-loved book simply titled _Faery Tales_ in gold lettering. 

He frowned. There was no author or editor named, so he plucked it out, too, and flipped it open, using the other books to balance it. 

The pages were yellowed with age, and worn soft, but the ink was as vibrant as ever. 

_Cinderella_ was the first tale, followed by _The Princess and the Frog_ and _Sleeping Beauty._

Stiles had to assume the book had been mis-shelved, that it was a book for the children of the house and supposed to be in the fiction or fantasy sections. 

He set it on an end table, intending to look at it later, or at least put it on the fantasy shelf. 

“I’m going to look for the properties of the curse in these books, see if there are any answers,” he announced, stepping back. 

“Can I help?” Isaac asked hesitantly. 

“Uh, sure. If you want. Take note of anything that looks familiar to you, like something similar to this curse. Identify it, then find a way to break it.” Stiles chose a chair and a book, propping it open on the arm. He put his notebook in his lap and prepared to write. 

Isaac sat on the floor beside him, leaning his back against Stiles’s leg. 

It became abundantly clear that the book Stiles had wasn’t meant for humans—or werewolves, for that matter.

It was basically a textbook, explaining the way to do spells in an efficient, step-by-step manner. It wasn’t about curses—so probably a book for young witches learning magic.

He huffed and slapped it shut, grabbing the next book. 

This one was full of brief histories of sorcerers and sorceresses that had lived in Beacon Hills. The histories _also_ included their most infamous curses, which was _exactly_ what Stiles needed. 

He had two pages worth of notes when Isaac stood up and distracted him. 

He blinked at him, disoriented. “Huh?”

“I’m gonna go find something to eat. Erica and I can catch stuff,” he added helpfully. “We’ll share with you.” 

Stiles grimaced. “How about we finish off whatever food is in my bag, then I can ask my dad to bring me stuff I can cook?”

Isaac grinned, brightening considerably. “Yes!”

Erica, who’d been lounged in her chair reading a book with a white cover and a gray spine, looked up. “You haven’t even asked if he _can_ cook. What if he sucks?”

“I do not suck!” Stiles snapped. “I am offering to cook for you, you ingrate!” 

She shrugged and picked up the book’s dust jacket, putting it back on the book and using a flap to mark her spot. “I’ll be grateful once I know you aren’t going to poison us.” She rolled to her feet and ruffled his hair, her nails catching the tip of his ear. “But thanks. My favorite food is spaghetti and meatballs.” She left the room with a bounce in her step.

“Is she always like that?”

“Pretty much.” Isaac held up his book. “This was mostly about plants.”

“Yeah, one of mine was a bust, too. Put it aside. Maybe it’ll be useful later. Go ahead and get the food from my bag. I’m gonna call my dad.”

Isaac nodded and followed Erica out. 

Stiles tapped John’s contact picture and put the phone beside his ear. There was a separate bookshelf labeled _Peter’s Misc. Collection_ that he hadn’t noticed before. The books over there looked promising, although some of the titles appeared to be in languages other than English. 

“Stiles? You there?”

Stiles jerked his gaze away. “Dad! Hi! Yes. I’m here. So, the Hale house has electricity.” 

“Oh, that’s good.” 

“There are also some people here,” he said carefully, confused by John’s disinterest. “The three teenagers that went missing years ago? They’re here.”

“They’re alive? Living in the Hale house?” 

“Uh…seems like it. Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, and, um, Vernon Boyd. Um, I was calling to ask if you could bring some food.” 

“Food…” John echoed.

“Um, yeah.” Stiles’s heart sort of squeezed, although he didn’t know why. “I can text you a list? Please?”

“I’ll send Scott, how about that? If you just send him a list, I’m sure he’ll be able to do it.” 

Stiles frowned. “Are you busy? Is everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yes. Busy. I’ll get back to you,” he added distractedly. And hung up.

Stiles gaped at his phone, stunned as it indicated the disconnected call. His heart squeezed, a childish part of him feeling abandoned. He called Scott, swallowing back anxiety of another rejection. 

“ _Broooo_ ,” Scott cheered. “How’re you doing?”

“Um, fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Yeah, I mean, nothing. Would you mind getting my emergency credit card from my house and grabbing some groceries for me?”

“Nope, I can do that. Just text me a list!”

Stiles let out a relieved little breath. “Awesome. Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem. Hey, have you talked to Lydia yet?”

“Not today. I was going to text her after I talked to you. Why?” He leaned a hip against his chair, rubbing his fist against his heart, trying to convince it to slow down.

“Just wondering. Okay, lemme get dressed. You text me that list,” Scott chirped.

“Okay. Thanks again. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Stiles hung up and quickly compiled a list—including hamburger meat, spaghetti noodles, sauce, fruit, and laundry detergent, among other things—before he figured he should just go for broke and called Lydia, too.

“Hey.” 

“Have you spoken to the sheriff today?” she asked bluntly. 

“Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?” he mumbled. 

“Your tone. I did some research. Did you know Roger Lahey still lives in town?”

Puzzled, Stiles said, “No…I didn’t.”

“Well, apparently a couple weeks after Isaac Lahey disappeared, he just stopped even keeping up appearances. He didn’t show up for search parties, didn’t ask for updates, didn’t even mention his child at all after that.” Lydia made a noise of irritation. “I called and told him I had a couple of questions about Isaac’s disappearance, and do you know what he said to me?” She didn’t wait for him to offer an answer. “He asked _who_.” 

Stiles checked over his shoulder. “I get the feeling he was part of the reason Isaac took off,” he muttered. 

“Mmhm. Well, I’m going to talk to the sheriff about it. I think it has something to do with the curse.” 

“Oh…” He thought about John’s distracted tone while they’d spoken on the phone. His throat constricted. “You think it makes people…forget?”

“I think it comes down to that blood relations thing again. See, _we_ remembered that Isaac Lahey had disappeared, but, if I’m right, Mr. Lahey doesn’t even remember he existed.” 

Stiles winced. “So you think Dad…”

“Possibly. You see, Deputy Parrish has been coming to do research, along with a couple of others, but Sheriff Stilinski has seemed distracted lately.” She hummed thoughtfully. “But I’ve found some herbs that should clear his head for a bit. Heather’s getting them ready. But the quicker we break this…”

“…The better, yeah. I know. Thank you, Lydia,” he said quietly. 

“We won’t let the sheriff forget you.” Her voice was firm, sure. No room for doubt or argument. “Now that you’re inside the house, you can find answers.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I presume you _are_ in the house, considering you asked Scott to bring you laundry detergent?”

“Ah…yeah. I am. Did he forward you the list or something?”

“Stiles, you sent it to both of us,” she said, sighing. 

“Oh, whoops.” 

“Well, like I said, you should be able to find answers quickly once you’ve access to the Hale library.” 

“I’m looking,” he muttered. 

“Good. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

As soon as she hung up, Isaac came into the room, bringing Stiles’s bag and looking hesitant.

“How much of that did you hear?” Stiles asked.

“Lydia Martin thinks that my father forgot I existed?” He managed a weird looking smile. “That’s good news if I’ve ever heard any.” 

Stiles grimaced.

“Oh, but your dad—the sheriff wouldn’t forget about you,” he added hastily.

“I don’t know if he’s got a choice,” Stiles muttered. He cleared his throat. “Lydia thinks it’s part of the curse.” He shrugged. “It makes strategic sense. If the families stop looking, there’s less people on the outside trying to break the curse. It just seems super complicated. I can’t imagine which local sorceress would have done it, or why…”

Isaac shrugged. “No clue. Can we eat now?”

“Sure.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo close to finishing this, which is awesome!! Finishing this before NaNoWriMo is the goal, guys, and it is WITHIN ARMS REACH! Enjoy, and let me know how it's going! Every comment makes me want to post 2x a week instead of just one, I'm so easy.

Seeing Scott and Melissa waiting on the other side of the line nearly made Stiles weep. They had reusable grocery bags scattered at their feet. Melissa waved at him once she spotted him.

“How’re you doing?” she asked. She directed her frown toward his shoes, which were still caked with mud. 

“Not too bad. The house has power and water, so I figured I could get some things, feed the feral children I found.” He jerked his thumb at Isaac, who’d come up behind him.

“Lahey,” Scott said brightly. “Your jersey was number fourteen, wasn’t it?”

Isaac looked shocked. “Um, yes. Yeah. It was.” 

Scott beamed. “Stiles is a good cook,” he said seriously. “And he’s really good at breaking curses.”

“So I hear.” Isaac seemed nervous, shifting his feet and avoiding eye contact.

“Well, we got everything on your list—and some, just in case you forgot some things.” Melissa looked confused about how to get the bags to him without damaging anything _in_ the bags. 

Scott cheerfully tossed a bag over the line. It wasn’t as accurate as Lydia’s toss, but it made it over the line without Scott toppling over, so Stiles considered it a success. 

“ _Scott,_ ” Melissa chastised. 

“Actually, that’s probably the only way. I’ll try to catch them, though,” he added when Melissa lifted her brows dangerously at him. 

“I got you some eggs. It’s your fault if you break them,” she said, resigned. 

“You got it. Just….I’ll get close, but I can’t get _too_ close.” 

“The curse,” Isaac elaborated when Melissa and Scott both looked confused. “It feels like a burn if you touch it. It’s even worse the longer you’re in contact with it.” 

Melissa’s brows furrowed. “Why would you prolong contact with it if it burns?”

Isaac immediately dropped his gaze. “I don’t know. I haven’t done it. I was just…” He shrugged helplessly. 

“Okay, next bag, please! And let’s save the breakable stuff for last!” 

They managed to get the groceries over the line without incident, but Stiles tripped over his own shoe and burned his hand on the perimeter line. 

“It’s fine,” he insisted, because Melissa looked seriously close to crossing the line on accident out of sheer instinct. “Thank you for the groceries, guys,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I really appreciate it.”

“It was no problem.” Melissa’s eyes looked wet instantly. “You need to get working on breaking this curse. We can’t leave you in there.” 

“I know. I am, I will.” He swallowed.

Melissa swiped at her cheek. “Well, good. I’m going to check on John and Lydia. Deputy Parrish is looking into stuff, too. You just…work on it.” She turned and left, walking quickly. 

Stiles watched her go, torn between amusement and sadness. 

Scott smiled apologetically. “She’s upset, but she didn’t want you to know she was. The sheriff’s been acting weird and it’s scaring her.” He clapped his hands together. “So, what do you need me to do? I can go pick up strange plant combinations from Heather, or get a map from Lydia and get some spring water—whatever you need.”

Stiles laughed. “Your faith is truly inspiring, Scotty, thanks. I have no idea what I need right now. Not yet.” 

“Well, when you do…” He beamed. “We’re all ready to help.”

Stiles smiled a little. “Thanks. Can you…check on my dad today? I think Lydia’s going to—to see him, and I thought if you could check on him…” He didn’t want to say that he thought his father was forgetting that he existed. “I would really appreciate it if you checked on him.”

“Sure! No problem.” Scott’s face fell a little. “He’ll be okay, Stiles. We’ll make sure.”

“Thank you.”

Scott nodded and looked at Isaac, who’d been awkwardly picking up grocery bags while they spoke. “Nice to see you again.”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Bye, Scott. Thanks.” Stiles smiled and absolutely did not cringe or tear up when Scott started to walk away.

“Aren’t you guys cousins or something?” Isaac asked, letting Stiles take a couple of the bags. 

“Um, no. We’re just really close.” Stiles poked through his bags, nodding to himself and mentally preparing meals. “We’ve been friends forever,” he added. “He and Melissa are practically family.” 

Isaac nodded and took the lead.

When they neared the house, Boyd appeared from the trees and took some bags from Isaac. 

“Where’s Erica?” Stiles asked when they reached the house. He hefted a bag up on his shoulder so he could close the door. 

Boyd shrugged. “Around.” He started looking into the bags he’d taken, curious.

Stiles scowled. “Whatever. I’m getting a little tired of this weird secrecy,” he announced, shoving his way past both of them.

Isaac let out a little sigh, following him.

The Hale kitchen turned out to be a rather large and—again—super clean room. The fridge was completely empty, as was the freezer. Stiles wasted no time filling up the space. 

“Boyd or Isaac, can one of you get my clothes and start a load of laundry while I make us lunch? Better get your own clothes in there, too, if you’ve been here all this time with no detergent,” he added, frowning thoughtfully. 

Behind him, there was a brief scuffle before Isaac left to get the clothes. Boyd smugly took the laundry detergent past Stiles through the other side of the kitchen, where he assumed the laundry room was.

Stiles dug around cabinets until he found the things he needed—pots for noodles and sauce, a muffin tin for the meatballs he was going to make, a cookie sheet for the garlic bread. 

He was glad he’d remembered to ask Scott for spices, too, since every cabinet was as barren as the fridge. They’d probably tossed things as they’d expired.

“Okay, Boyd, wash your hands.” He spun around with a cookie pan in his hands. 

Boyd looked startled but complied. 

“You’re going to help me make meatballs while the noodles boil, okay?”

While Stiles was spreading spices over the cookie pan, Boyd filled the pot with water. Beyond the kitchen, Stiles heard the unmistakable sounds of _laundry_ : the muffled thump of clothes being tossed into the machine, the detergent pod being dropped in, the loud, grinding-twist noise of the dial being turned, then, _clack_ , the water whooshed on, ending with a bang as Isaac slammed the washer closed. 

It was a homey racket.

“Just grab some meat, roll it into a ball, then roll it through the spices. You can squish it and roll it again after that if you really want to get the seasoning in there.” 

Boyd nodded, sitting at the island where Stiles had set the cookie pan and meat. 

While he got started, Stiles turned the stove on and broke the noodles, tossing the halves into the pot of water Boyd had filled. 

“Can I help?” Isaac asked. He was on the far side of the kitchen, past the fridge where Boyd had taken the detergent. 

“Yep. Wash your hands. You can do the garlic bread.”

If Stiles felt a little bit like he was leading a first grade class through a craft project, well, he wasn’t going to tell them that.

Isaac was less than enthused about his project until Stiles told him he was expected to slice up the baguette bread, then put garlic butter on it, which apparently made it more worthwhile. 

Once they were both occupied, Stiles took a moment to figure out what the hell he was doing. 

_We have to eat,_ he reminded himself. _It’s not like I was going to eat in front of them. They could have just left me wandering around in the woods._ Plus, maybe if they trusted him more, he could get them to tell him what they were hiding about the curse. 

He just couldn’t understand _why_ they were so closed mouthed about the details of the curse, anyway. Wouldn’t they benefit from it, too, if he broke the curse? 

Sure, Isaac had admitted he’d come to Hale property on purpose, knowing he’d get stuck, but he was an adult now. Even if he’d been fleeing from a bad home as a teenager, he didn’t _have_ to go back. He was just…stuck here, just like the rest of them.

Wouldn’t he like the freedom to move around, even if he did just come back when he chose to?

Stiles shook himself and got to work helping Boyd with the meat. 

Once everything was in the oven or boiling, Stiles checked the laundry—after Isaac revealed to him that the laundry room was across from the pantry and was not, in fact, a closet like he originally thought. The washer was still ticking away.

“I’m going to get my notebook and a couple books, get to work. Um, make sure the noodles don’t boil over in the meantime.” 

“Okay.” Isaac moved to stand over the stove, staring down at the pot, hard, like he was daring it to misbehave. 

Stiles suppressed a snort and left the kitchen. As he passed through the dining room, he got the creeping sensation that he was being watched and turned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

His gaze snagged on the third doorway in the dining room, the darkened one that Isaac had spoken to.

“Lunch,” he said impulsively, “is spaghetti. There’s enough for everyone.” Then, when he got no response—he shouldn’t have expected one, anyway—he left the room. 

He gathered some promising books—they had weird-ass titles, but since they were books from _Peter’s Misc. Collection_ he figured that was why they got shelved on their own—and his notebook from the library, heading straight back to the kitchen. 

“The noodles look done. Are they done?” Isaac asked, leaning over the pot.

“Take one out,” Stiles suggested. He yelped in surprise when Isaac did just that, bare handed. 

He only cringed a little, shaking off his burned hand until the redness faded. “Now what?”

“Eat it,” Stiles said dryly. “How does it taste?”

He popped it in his mouth and chewed for a moment, thoughtful. “The middle is kind of hard.”

“They’re not done. Stir them—with the _spoon_ —then let them cook a bit.” Stiles set his books on the island.

Boyd examined them. He prodded one with his fingertip until it turned. “You think you’ll find answers in _Consecration, Allegiance of the Covenant_?” 

“I might.” Stiles shrugged. “Unless you can point me in a better direction?”

“Nope.” He glanced at the notebook. “What ideas do you have?”

“Um, well, knowing next to nothing about the curse slows any progress I might make. I was thinking wolfsbane might play a role, since this _is_ Hale land, and they _were_ werewolves. So—but none of these describe any cures or curses involving aconite.” He pulled the notebook closer. “I could probably mix wolfsbane with other plants and water and see if it’ll remove the barrier.” He bit his thumbnail. “If the curse is _on_ the Hale property, then that’ll probably work. Or something like that. But usually the cure needs to be given to the _person_ who’s cursed.” Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. “You guys are making this harder than it should be.” He scowled.

“Can I take the garlic bread out?” Isaac asked.

“Yes.” Stiles sighed. “I need to know more to be able to help.”

Boyd shrugged. “You need to _earn_ more.” 

“Earn—?” Stiles scoffed. “Don’t you want to be able to come and go as you please? Why not just tell me what I need to know?”

Isaac let the oven door slam, making Stiles jump. “These are done!” He leaned forward over the pot. “I think the noodles are done now, too.”

Stiles studied him, frowning. “Alright. Where’s Erica?”

Boyd tipped his head. “She’s on her way.” 

“Oh. Good. Well…good. Then let’s get some plates and go to the table.”

Erica was standing sort of awkwardly in the dining room beside a man Stiles definitely recognized. 

“Dr. Deaton,” he said, startled. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the vet was here. It was just that, with the three werewolves and his father and getting to see Scott and Melissa, he’d temporarily forgotten that Dr. Deaton even existed. 

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski.”

So the others had told Dr. Deaton about him, then. 

“Ah…want some spaghetti?” he offered for lack of anything else to say.

Dr. Deaton’s face relaxed instantly. “I would like that, thank you.” He glanced at Erica, a smile twitching at his lips. “I’ve been living on things the pack has caught, and the rather sparse vegetable garden the Hales kept in the side yard.” 

“Ah. Well then, help yourself. There’s plenty.” 

Once everyone had a plate, Stiles fixed up a separate plate and set it on the counter, complete with garlic bread and four meatballs. 

“This is good,” Boyd announced after his first bite, before going at his plate with a vengeance. 

“It is, thank you, Stiles,” Isaac said. He ate more carefully than Boyd, leaning over his plate slightly like he thought someone was going to take it from him. 

Stiles glanced at Erica, who lifted her brows and took a careful bite.

“Not bad,” she said with a shrug.

Stiles rolled his eyes and started poking at his plate. 

“Stiles,” Deaton said slowly, “you wouldn’t happen to know anything about my practice, would you?’

Stiles swallowed. “Yeah. Um, Mrs. McCall cleaned it up and cleaned it out, called all of your patients for you and got everything closed up. Until Scott—that’s her son—came back from college for the summer this year.” 

“Oh?”

“You remember, he liked being there when his mom worked part time for you. Well, he went to veterinary school. He’s starting his last year in the fall, and in the meantime he opens up your clinic in the summer. He’s got a knack for it,” he added. “It’s doing pretty well.”

Deaton nodded slowly. “I remember he had a way with the animals.” 

“Yeah, he’s basically a Disney Princess,” Stiles said, briefly amused. 

Conversation ceased after that, everyone’s attention falling to their meal. 

This unfortunately gave Stiles time to think about his father, and being alone. What would he do, he wondered, if he called his dad and was asked _who is this?_? Probably have a panic attack or some sort of break down. It would be like his mother all over again. 

“Can we get some more?” Boyd asked. 

Isaac ducked his head when he did, body tensing.

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles couldn’t see how they could possibly still be hungry after the enormous plates they’d had, but, sure enough, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac trailed into the kitchen. He glanced at Dr. Deaton, who shook his head.

“I couldn’t possibly eat any more. The pack, well, they need more carbs than us. Shifting takes a lot of them. Healing does, too.” 

The _pack_. He supposed that was what they were. The others, the Hales, had been a pack, and these three—four?—werewolves couldn’t compare—there had been a lot of Hales— but they were sort of a patchwork family of werewolves and he guessed that did make them a pack. 

“I see.” Stiles set his fork on his cleared plate. “So, I’m trying to break this curse. You could have guessed that, I bet. I need more information, though. What I’ve got is just not enough.” 

“I understand,” Dr. Deaton said. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anymore than you already know.”

Stiles sighed deeply. “Don’t _any_ of you want to get out of here?” he demanded. 

“Very much so. It’s just not my place. I can, however, tell you that I believe you’re making progress.” He flicked his gaze toward the kitchen doorway just as the other three came back through with their plates. 

Stiles frowned, but didn’t say anything else. 

After they’d finished eating, Dr. Deaton and Erica did the dishes, saying it was only fair since the other three had cooked. 

Stiles switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer, then called out to ask if there were any more clothes that needed washing while tossing a couple of Bounce sheets into the dryer.

Isaac loaded the washer silently next to him.

Once the laundry was going, Boyd put away the leftovers—because, miraculously, there were some—and Stiles set the plate he’d made on the dining room table.

“Ummm, so that’s…for you. I’m probably talking to myself,” he muttered, flushing stupidly. 

He retreated to the library, figuring he could take his mind off things by trying to find answers. 

Apparently, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had other plans. They piled into the library and started wrestling on the floor while Stiles tried to concentrate. 

“Why are you doing that?” he demanded, nudging Boyd off his foot.

“We’re bored,” Erica said. She sat on Isaac’s back, laughing when he got up on all fours.

“Why don’t you go _outside?_ ” 

In werewolf speak, that question apparently translated into “Let’s go outside and play!” because they dragged him into the backyard to play catch with a baseball that had seen better days. 

It was hard to stay irritated at them when it was such a bright, clear day and he was having fun watching them catch even the worst throws. 

Erica made a fantastic leap into the air, twisting to catch the ball when it sailed over her head, then whipped it back toward Stiles.

“Ow! Not so hard,” he scolded, shaking his stinging hand out. “I’m human, that shit hurts!” 

“Oops,” Erica said lightly, catching his next throw easily.

Despite her flippant attitude, they were all more careful when throwing to him. Not so careful that he felt like a wimp, but the throws were light enough that his arm wasn’t wrenched back every time he caught it. 

When his phone chimed, he looked down automatically, and it was only due to Isaac’s quick reflexes that he didn’t get hit in the face, although he did accidentally step on Stiles’s foot. 

“Sorry—thanks,” he said, distracted. “Let me just check this.”

His heart leapt when he saw John had texted him.

**Come to the property line where you went over.**

“Hey, I—my dad’s—he’s at the property line. I’ll be right back,” he said a little breathlessly. 

“Do you want help? I could come-” Isaac offered, but Stiles just shook his head. 

“No thanks—if I need help, I’ll call for you, okay?”

He made it to the line at a dead run, which meant he couldn’t stop in time, tripped over his own feet, and slammed into the barrier, burning his cheek, chin, and palms. 

He backpedaled quickly, panting.

John and Lydia were on the other side of the line. Lydia looked calm but tired, her hair pulled back, face slightly paler than normal with fatigue. John, for his part, was pacing, his hair standing in tufts from his pulling on it in a nervous tick he’d passed to his son.

“Dad,” Stiles gasped. 

“Stiles.” He stepped toward the line, but Lydia set her hand on his shoulder lightly, stopping him. 

“The flowers I found—pheasant’s eye and juniper, among a couple others—they worked, but I don’t know for how long.” 

“Thank you,’ he said, pressing a hand against his stomach.

John still looked distraught. “I will not allow myself to forget about you, Stiles, I promise. I’ll take those damn flowers every hour if I have to.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “I would advise against that. Every twenty-four hours should suffice until they stop working. Have you made any progress?”

“I—I’m trying. With so little to go on…Dr. Deaton—he’s here and alive, by the way—he basically said that I’m on the right track.” He pulled his hands through his hair. “I’m trying.”

“So are we.” Lydia’s brows furrowed for a moment, then cleared. “We’ll just have to start testing things soon. Lexa is more than willing to lend a magical hand if we decided we need it.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’m…working on learning more about the curse.”

John looked up. “How can I help?”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder. “I think everything I need is in the house right now.”

Lydia lifted her brows. “Then _find it._ ”

“Yes, well, if it was that easy,” he started to snap, closing his mouth with a click when she lifted a single brow dangerously.

Her expression plainly said that he should remember who was using her spare time to help him.

“Sorry. I just—it’s frustrating.”

“Do you need anything right now?”

He looked at John again.

He was starting to look wildly desperate, his eyes underscored with bags. He obviously wanted to do something, anything, to let Stiles know he was there for him, to make it up to him for starting to forget him. 

“Um, I could use some Reese’s. You know. My thinking food,” he added with a grin. 

“Okay. I’ll be back with some Reese’s. I love you,” John added firmly. 

“I love you, too, Dad.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so close to finishing, which means, clearly, I am stalling. D: I can't seem to help myself. 
> 
> I have to remind myself that the faster I finish this one, the faster I can start posting 2 chapters a week, AND start writing the sequel! Which I am super excited about!
> 
> Enjoy, let me know how you like it!! :D

Three days later, Stiles found himself at the line with Lydia, crouched over a pile of wolfsbane flowers. She was knelt over a pile on her side of the line, too, with a lighter. 

“We try it at the same time,” she said. “Just light the opposite end.” 

Stiles nodded, flicking his lighter on. They counted down from three, lighting the flowers in tandem. 

They flickered bright green, the flames licking down to the end of the stems. 

Stiles held his breath as the flames crackled, the ashes rolling into the groove of the property line. 

Lydia’s finished burning at the same time as his.

“Try it,” she said. 

Stiles reached out and promptly burned his fingertips on the property barrier. 

“Fuck!” He got up to pace, more pissed that their fourth try of the day hadn’t worked than the burns on his fingers. They’d tried burning a combination of crowfoot and wolfsbane a moment ago, which had about the same results. 

Pyrus japonica, pennyroyal, water willow, fresh spring water, ocean water, crushed sea glass, combinations of all of them—nothing was working. 

“We’ll just have to try some other stuff,” Lydia said when he paced back. She took a little breath. “I also wanted to update you on your dad, before I leave. The flowers are still working, but…he is forgetting things. Just little things. He couldn’t remember what day your birthday was, or your middle name. I’ve told him to take the flowers twice a day instead of once, just to see if it helps.” 

Stiles swallowed back panic. “Has it helped?”

“He answers every question correctly so far.”

Stiles couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow. “What questions?”

“Well, how else was I supposed to be sure the plants were working?” she demanded. “I ask him questions every time I see him. He doesn’t seem to mind.” 

Stiles nodded. “Thank you.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his sternum, taking slow, even breaths to keep his heartrate down. “For letting me know. Could you text me the next time he forgets something?” 

She frowned at him. “Yes, but I don’t know why. You knowing that he’s forgotten when you got your tonsils removed isn’t going to help you find a cure for this curse.” 

“I know, but I want to know…I don’t want to call him one day and find out that he’s forgotten _everything._ ” 

She gave him a disappointed look. “As if I would let it get that bad without telling you.” She stood up and swept her hair behind her shoulders. “I’ve got to get back, my shift is about to start. I’ll get in contact with you after I speak to the sheriff.” 

“Okay. Thanks,” he muttered, sticking his lighter in his pocket.

“I’ll be back after I get off with some more things to try. Heather and Lexa have some ideas, too, and at this point, I don’t want to say no to anything.” 

He nodded and lifted his hand in a wave, though his head stayed down. He waited until she was out of sight to go back to the house, walking slowly. 

Isaac met him at the door, nostrils twitching.

“I told you to stay inside until I could shower,” Stiles mumbled. “We were burning wolfsbane, I don’t want to get any on you.” 

Isaac frowned. “Sorry.”

Stiles shook his head. “Just…back up. I’ll go shower. After that I’m going to the library for a while.”

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked quietly. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping into the house. 

After his shower, he went to the library. It was barely nine AM, but Stiles didn’t feel like eating, so he went straight to the library. The pack could eat leftovers. 

They’d been cooking, reading, and playing catch for the past three days, in between sessions with Lydia where they tried and failed to break the curse. 

Stiles had a stack of books and his now half-full notebook, ready for at least a couple hours of research.

The pack trickled in—Boyd came in last, about fifteen minutes after Erica. 

Stiles flipped open _The Enchantress_ , another book from _Peter’s Misc. Collection_. It seemed to be a journal written by an incredibly bigoted sorceress from Beacon Hills. 

Lydia texted right when he got settled in. 

‘ **The Sheriff forgot a couple of things today, nothing too bad. He couldn’t remember where you had your birthday dinner this year or where you guys meet for lunch usually.** ’

“Um, are you okay?” Isaac asked. “Your heart is beating really hard.”

Stiles swallowed and tucked his phone away. “Just worried,” he muttered. 

Erica was sprawled in a patch of sunlight, reading; her head was propped on Boyd’s leg while he played with her hair.

“About your dad?”

He nodded, his throat tight and dry. “We found a way to slow down the curse, stop him from forgetting me, but it’s not going to work forever. It’s sort of…wearing off already, slowly.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t—lose my dad, too,” he croaked. 

Erica lowered her book slightly.

Stiles rubbed his face again and grabbed the book again, sitting back. He couldn’t concentrate. He kept rereading the same line about power transference over and over again. 

He slapped his book closed. “Who is the alpha?” he demanded. “I can’t—my father is forgetting I _exist_.” He blinked rapidly, trying to convince his eyes to stay dry. “We’re the only family each other _has_. My mom is…she _died_ , and now my dad is _forgetting_ me.” He pressed his fingers to his knees, trying to ignore the shaking. “My mom forgot stuff—she was sick and she-” he looked at his shoes.

“Okay,” Isaac said.

Stiles’s head snapped up. “What?” A tear escaped, embarrassing him. He swiped it away.

“Isaac,” Erica said sharply. “No!”

They both looked at Boyd, who was staring at Stiles.

“You have to be nice,” he said abruptly. “Don’t freak out. Be _kind_.” 

Stiles frowned at him, confused. 

Boyd kept staring at him until he nodded. 

Erica scoffed. “I won’t be part of this.”

“Fine,” Isaac snapped. He scowled at her. 

She shook her head and stood, tossing her book at Boyd and stomping out of the room. 

Boyd frowned after her, holding onto the book she’d flung; it looked like the same one she’d been reading before. 

“I don’t-”

“Just remember what Boyd said,” Isaac said. “We’re gonna to talk to—the alpha.”

Boyd nodded, setting the book gently on a table as he got to his feet. 

“Stay here,” he said, and left with Isaac. 

Stiles frowned after them. Then he shook his head and pulled out his phone to text his father. He’d developed a habit of texting him every couple of hours just to check in.

‘ **Hey, everything going ok?** ’

‘ **Yes, kid, just looking into some burglaries. Love you.** ’

‘ **Love you too. Be careful.** ’

He scrubbed at his hair, frustrated. He felt useless and stuck. There was only so much he could do, weeding through information he didn’t need and not knowing the full effects of the curse. Hell, he didn’t even know what had _happened_ to the Hales, let alone how to help. Or if they were beyond help.

Stiles was tired of nothing working, he was tired of being stuck here while his father forgot about him. 

Lydia sent him a text then, startling him. ‘ **Lexa’s going to make a magic-infused potion from water willow, spring water, and crowfoot. Will try at six pm today. Once on your side, once on mine. Be early.** ’

He blew out a breath. ‘ **Yes, okay, I will, thanks.** ’ 

She didn’t respond after reading.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

“Hello,” a hesitant voice rasped. 

He jumped a little, sitting up straight.

The man before him wore slightly ill-fitting clothes—the jeans were too long, shirt too big—and had a face like a vampire from _Buffy._

Stiles sort of jerked in surprise, eyes skipping from the stick-out ears to the fangs, the sideburns and pronounced, caveman-like brow ridge and nose.

“Um…h-hi,” he stammered. 

The man grimaced, muscular shoulders hunching in as he started to retreat.

“No, wait—I was, um, surprised. I’m Stiles. What’s your name?” 

“Derek,” he said. His voice was sort of rough, and garbled around the fangs. The shy way his bright red eyes flicked away from Stiles’s gaze made him think that it was probably less his doing than…a symptom of whatever was going on with his face. 

“Are you Derek Hale?” Stiles pressed.

He nodded.

“Ahhhh,” he breathed. “You’re the Cursed, then.”

“Yes,” he admitted. 

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m trying to break the curse but without, well, you, I wasn’t making much progress.” He smiled. 

“Isaac told me.” 

Stiles bit on his lip, pressing his hands to his thighs to keep from biting his nails. “So, why don’t you tell me about the curse? And the person who cursed you,” he added.

Derek let out a slow, bracing breath. “Okay. I can tell you what I know about the curse.”

“I’ll take it,” Stiles said quickly. He couldn’t really tell, but it _looked_ like Derek smiled. 

_Be kind_ , Boyd had said. Stiles could do that. Maybe. He was out of practice. 

“Why don’t you sit? We can both sit right here,” he suggested, sliding from his chair to the floor, as there were no other chairs close by.

“Okay,” Derek agreed. He sat down cross-legged in front of Stiles. He plucked at his jeans awkwardly. “These are my dad’s,” he admitted. “I grew out of my clothes.” 

“It _has_ been eight years,” Stiles said. “Okay, hit me. I’m all ears.”

“Okay. So, um, I’m cursed—to look like this. It’s our half-shift. I guess you know we’re werewolves, if you’re from Beacon Hills.”

“I am, and I do know.” 

“Right. Well, when we don’t turn into wolves completely, we can do this, since it makes our senses a little sharper. Um, but it’s usually voluntary. I’m…yeah, stuck. I guess you know the curse traps people here, too,” he mumbled. “A woman cursed me when I was sixteen—she wanted to kill my family, she tried, I mean, but she got caught, and then she did _this_.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Who was it?” He hadn’t missed that Derek had said he was sixteen, and that he’d said _woman._ He wondered how old she was, and why an adult sorceress would go after a teenager. He didn’t want to ask, though, in case Derek thought he was blaming him for getting cursed. 

Derek closed his mouth as much as he could around his fangs, dropping his gaze and remaining completely silent.

Stiles frowned at him. “Alright…well, I have loads more to work with now. Is there anything else the curse did?” he asked cautiously. He wanted to find out about the rest of the Hales—if all the curse had done was _this_ , then where were they?

“It—I mean, I think it was just meant to isolate me,” he admitted very quietly. He looked embarrassed. “But Dr. Deaton came right away. He was friends with my mom. Then Boyd and Erica accidentally crossed the line, and Isaac came. So I guess I could be more alone.” He didn’t sound like he was unaffected, but he did try to smile. 

Stiles wondered if he should straight out ask about the rest of the family. 

_Be kind._

“It’s about lunch time. Want to help me make something? You can pick,” he offered.

“Okay.”

Derek wanted chicken, but he didn’t care how Stiles prepared it. 

Stiles figured, since his father wasn’t around to sneak any, he’d make fried chicken, especially since it required the least amount of ingredients (eggs, flour, chicken, spices). 

He set Derek to making the chicken while he scrubbed some potatoes (thank you, Melissa) to boil. 

Isaac came sniffing once the first few pieces of chicken started to fry. 

“Is that lunch?” he asked, leaning casually against Derek’s side. 

“Yep. We’re having fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Do you have a taste for anything else while we’re cooking?”

Isaac sniffed around, opening the fridge and frowning. “Can I make more garlic bread?” 

“Uh, sure, if you want some.” 

The scent of food drew the rest of the pack, though Erica gave Stiles a dirty look when she walked in. Boyd snatched a piece of chicken from the finished plate and grinned in triumph as he ate it.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Isaac, the potatoes are done, do you want to mash them?”

Derek muttered something to Boyd while Stiles was telling Isaac how to mash up the potatoes.

“Yep,” Boyd replied, stacking a couple of pieces of chicken onto a plate before backing out of the room. He pressed a kiss to Erica’s cheek before she could move away. 

Erica scowled. “Well?” she snapped at Stiles. “Any new ideas to get us out of here? You must have _loads_ of ideas now that you’ve met Derek. Right? It was _so_ important.”

“That’s enough,” Derek said quietly. 

Erica eased back, looking chastened. “Derek, you didn’t want—”

“I do have a few ideas,” Stiles said when Derek’s eyes started to narrow. 

Isaac looked at him. “You do?”

“Yeah. It’s sort of a transformation curse, I think, so I want to try some plants first. We can decide which ones as we go. Hot spring water with marianthus, verbena, some balm-of-Gilead. I’ve got ideas,” he repeated.

“These are mashed enough…I think.”

Stiles turned to help Isaac, but he felt Derek watching him the whole time.

They ate lunch at the table again—the pack seemed to enjoy it and Stiles wasn’t going to complain, especially when someone always did the dishes after he cooked.

He ate one handed, texting Lydia everything he knew and his ideas with the other hand. 

“Do you think it’ll work?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked up. “What?” He swallowed his bite and repeated, “What?”

“The…spring water and the flowers. Do you think they will work?”

“I _hope_ they’ll work. This curse is more complex than any other transformation curse I’ve ever helped break, but it’s worth a try. We’ve got nothing but time, why not try everything?”

Derek nodded, looking down at his plate.

Stiles figured he hadn’t exactly given him hope—he could have figured that even without the scathing glare Erica shot him. “Um, we _will_ figure it out, though. No matter how many tries it takes.”

Erica scoffed, but Stiles saw Derek make that twitchy movement with his mouth, his eyes—still bright red—softening around the corners—he _was_ smiling.

 

Stiles met Lydia at the line an hour later—she wanted to drop some stuff off during her lunch break. He let Derek know where he was going, but he hadn’t wanted to pressure him into coming with. He’d obviously been reluctant to show his face, so there was no point in forcing him to show anyone else yet. 

“Took you long enough,” Lydia said, looking at her watch. “I only have twenty minutes of my break left.”

“He didn’t want to be seen! What was I supposed to do, just search the house until I found _him?_ I didn’t realize _he_ was cursed.”

Lydia sighed. “I brought somethings. Heather helped put together a little kit, and I put a list of instructions in there. Lexa even lent some magic for the sea water. There’s enough for a couple different trials.” She used her foot—shod in red high top Converse in pristine condition—to nudge the rather large box over the line, careful to give it enough momentum that she didn’t cross even a toe.

Stiles tested the weight of the box. “Who helped you?” he asked suspiciously, because Lydia was averse to carrying anything heavier than a textbook. 

“Scott,” she replied.

“Scott’s here?”

“He went back for the groceries. He grabbed a couple of things for you.”

“Ah.” He poked around in the box, found a knife, pestle and mortar, and a few jars. 

“Those were also provided by Lexa. She thinks you’ll have an easier time with that stuff.”

“Tell her thanks for me.” 

Scott returned then, carrying a couple of bags. He grinned widely at Stiles. “Mom made fajitas, thought you’d like some. I also brought more meats.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles said with a grin. “I’ve got mouths to feed.” 

“Yes,” Lydia said slowly, “about that. How do you plan to keep supporting at least five other people?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, grimacing. “I’ve got some savings for now, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last.”

“Mom’s been making sure to get coupons and deals and stuff when we get your things,” Scott said, but he looked worried. “We’ll think of something.” His phone beeped from his pocket, making him wince. “Okay, I have to go—Mr. Hicks is bringing in his poodle for a checkup in twenty minutes. See you later, Stiles!”

“Bye.”

Lydia lifted her brows at him. “Maybe Mr. Hale will have some ideas about the grocery bill.” 

Stiles grimaced. “He said he was sixteen when he got cursed, Lydia. How much money could he _have_?”

She shrugged. “His parents probably had credit cards _somewhere._ ” 

Stiles glared at her.

“Just a thought.” She flicked at a beetle that landed on her arm, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Try out everything in the box. Keep me posted.” 

“I will. Thank you.”

She nodded and turned, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder as she walked away. 

Stiles sighed, scratching his cheek.

“Need help?”

Stiles jumped, swearing. “You suck,” he gasped, making Isaac laugh. 

“I thought you heard me,” he claimed, still snickering. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved the box into Isaac’s arms.

“What’s all this for?”

“Derek. To try to break the spell.”

“Smells weird.”

“Lots of plants, some magic. It’s gonna smell weird.” Stiles hefted the bags of groceries. “But it might also get us out of here. Good trade off.” 

“Hmm.” Isaac pulled a jar of what looked like green mud out. “Uh, why?”

“Because it’s magic and it might work.” 

“Oh.” He set the jar back in the box. “If you say so.” He settled the box in both arms again, though he’d been carrying it easily enough in one. “Stiles, when you said your mom was sick…” 

His throat tightened automatically. “Yeah?” he asked gruffly. 

“You said she forgot stuff…How…I mean-” He looked flustered and confused. 

Stiles sighed. “She had a type of dementia that can affect young people. It was rough.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Isaac whispered. He sounded like he was apologizing for bringing it up.

Stiles just shrugged and continued walking. There was nothing else to say to that.

Erica was nowhere in sight when they got inside, but Derek and Boyd were in the dining room. 

“Hey, big guy. We’ve got a box of goodies to try. Boyd, could you put these groceries away for me while we test these out?”

“Sure.”

“So, some of these involve liquids,” Stiles explained cheerfully. “We’ll need to do this somewhere like a bathroom.” 

“Um, okay.” Derek shuffled his feet—which were bare, Stiles noticed for the first time.

“I can help,” Isaac said, and they both saw Derek’s shoulders relax a bit.

“Okay! Great. This way.”

They all crowded into the bathroom next to Stiles’s room. Isaac set the box on the counter while Derek stood in the middle of the room.

“Um, so, I’m sorry, but you might want to lose the shirt. We’ve got liquids. But if it makes you more comfortable, you can pull the curtain, and I can tell Isaac what to do.” 

Derek gave him a nervous look, but eventually shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head.

Stiles caught an eyeful of acres of tanned, muscular skin before he turned away, wanting to give Derek some privacy. He seemed like the shy type. Also, Stiles wasn’t sure he needed to be ogling the shy, cursed werewolf. 

He did notice that Derek had some sort of mark—a birthmark, maybe, or a scar, on the left side of his chest, above his heart.

He wondered, if it was a scar, what could scar a werewolf.

“So, yeah. Maybe stand in the tub. Your pants will probably get wet,” he warned.

He turned to dig through the box, lining jars and baggies on the counter.

“I’ll just take them off, then,” Derek muttered. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. This will be messy, but it might work.” He found Lydia’s list of instructions and grabbed a jar of spring water.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek shuck the too-long jeans and fold them on top of his shirt. 

He started chopping up hibiscus, using the counter as a cutting board. 

He scooped the flower bits and petals into the jar and stirred with the tip of the knife, checking the list.

“Are these cranberries?” Isaac asked, reaching into the box to pull out a Tupperware container. 

“Yes, and I need some. Here, why don’t you crush them in this?” He handed Isaac the pestle and mortar. 

“Okay.”

They added the crushed cranberries (and the resultant juice) to the jar, and, after screwing on the lid, shook it up. 

“Well, it’s not pretty, but it may work. Derek, go ahead and hold your breath, it needs to go over your head. Um, you can leave your eyes open,” he added when Derek looked a little panicked. 

“I was going to anyway,” he said with an awkward laugh. 

Stiles shrugged and leaned forward with the open jar. 

The mixture looked thick and slimy, but it smelled nice as it slid over Derek’s dark hair, down his ears and temples. He snorted when it rolled over his nose, head twitching slightly. 

Stiles held his breath as the last drop plopped into Derek’s already soaked hair. 

Isaac looked at Derek’s face. “Well?”

“It kind of tingles?”

“Try changing back,” Isaac suggested. 

Stiles stepped back, still gripping the jar, and watched Derek’s face. 

Derek sighed. “Nothing.”

“Wash it off. We’ve got a whole box full of things to try still,” Stiles pointed out. “Of course the first one wasn’t going to be _the_ one. Since when does life work like that?”

Derek smiled, wiping a cranberry piece off his cheek. 

They worked their way systematically down the list of combinations Lydia had suggested. It was about dinner time when Stiles called it quits.

“We can try more later. I’m hungry. Oh.” He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the list. “Lydia wants you to try eating some coltsfoot. Just to see if that’ll work.” He plucked it out of the box. 

Derek eyed the yellow flowers warily. “She wants me to eat _flowers?_ ” 

Stiles sighed. “I can put it in your dinner to disguise the taste? It’s edible, I swear.” He pulled a petal off and put it in his mouth. “See?”

Derek took the flower cautiously, then put it in his mouth whole. The face he made while chewing was akin to a baby trying a lemon for the first time. This was particularly hilarious when paired with his enormous fangs and dangerous-looking red eyes.

“No change,” Stiles sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.” He folded the list and loaded the empty jars back into the box. “If you’re up to it, we can try the magic infused water after dinner.”

“Okay.”

They all three cooked dinner together. Isaac disappeared with his plate, but Erica, Boyd, Derek, and Dr. Deaton remained for the meal. 

“Do you have any ideas?” Stiles asked Dr. Deaton. “You came here for a reason, right? You thought you could help…?”

“I did think I could offer some help. I was Talia’s emissary—a sort of advisor for alphas,” he added. “I hoped I could do something to break the curse. I obviously had no luck. As for ideas, well, you have more experience in curse breaking than I do, Mr. Stilinski. I’m just a vet.”

Stiles nodded, frowning to himself. 

After dinner, Erica joined them in the bathroom. They tried the magicked spring water with larch, which didn’t work. They added water willow and cloves to a second jar of magicked spring water and poured it over Derek’s head after he’d rinsed the first bit out of his hair and…

His eyes dimmed, turning from glowing red toward a blue-green sort of color.

Stiles’s heart stopped.

Derek’s eyes flickered back to red.

“Dammit!” Stiles paced away, hands behind his head. “I’m sorry,” he said when he paced back into the bathroom. 

“That was close!” Erica cheered. “I’ve never seen his eyes do that!”

Derek looked startled, almost like he’d been hit in the face with something unexpectedly. 

“Okay.” Stiles looked their leftover supplies. “So, we try the water willow in the water, the clove in _that_ jar, and then both again, see what caused the change.” 

Erica nodded seriously and started chopping. She had some serious skills with the knife. Stiles considered asking her for more help in the kitchen, but he feared saying anything like that while she was armed. 

The water willow alone didn’t cause a reaction except Derek accidentally inhaled some through his nose and started sputtering, which made Erica switch on the shower head and help him wash it off.

“Next,” Stiles muttered. 

The clove got even less of a reaction; Derek blinked leaves out of his eyes and stared at them. “Nothing happened.”

“No. Okay, let’s try that again, the clove, spring water, and water willow.” Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair and let Erica chop up the ingredients. 

It didn’t seem to matter how they mixed it—they couldn’t reproduce the effect. It was frustrating, since they’d wasted supplies.

“Fuck!” Stiles shoved the bowl away from himself and stalked out of the room again. He came back in, calmer, and glared at the remaining jar of sea water. It was their last one. “Okay, we have black poplar, hawthorn, and pennyroyal. And magic. This is our last one for tonight. Fingers crossed,” he added in an effort to ease the tension in the room. 

Derek chuckled and held up his hand, first two fingers crossed. They were tipped with claws. Stiles hadn’t noticed before. 

“Erica, you want to pour it over? Maybe it needs a member of his pack…”

“Sure,” she chirped, snatching up the jar.

Stiles crossed his own fingers as she poured.

Petals and chopped leaves slid down Derek’s face, catching in the strange contours of his werewolf-face. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurted when nothing happened. “I thought that would work.” 

“It’s okay,” Derek said, flicking a petal off his nose. “I didn’t really expect any of them to work. Life’s not that easy,” he added with a smile toward Stiles.

Stiles nodded, relieved. “Right. I’ve got more ideas. I just need more supplies. There are old records, _really_ old records…We’ll find something.” 

He couldn’t quite remember what he’d read from Lexa’s grandmother’s records, but he hoped there was something in them.

Derek nodded.

Erica reached out and pulled part of a stem from behind his ear.

“If we’re done, I’m going to shower,” Derek said.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. There’s not much left now. I’m just gonna talk to Lydia. You go ahead and…yeah.”

He went to the guest room he was using and called Lydia.

“I tried _everything._ ”

“Did any of them produce a reaction?” she asked. “ _No, Jackson,_ ” she muttered away from the phone.

“The spring water Lexa enchanted mixed with water willow and clove sort of did _something_ , but we couldn’t recreate the reaction, even with the same ingredients.” 

“Okay. I was reading the things Lexa brought—organizing them into books for the records room—and some of the old curses had cures like a pure silk robe that had to be worn under a new moon, or milk from a pure brown cow had to be consumed at high noon.” She let out a little scoff. “We can try some of _those_.” There was a muffled thump from her end of the line, followed by a male voice—her boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore—muttering angrily. “ _Not right now,_ ” she said in a steely voice. “Okay, I’m going to look into those archaic curses and cures. Lexa’s been helping me a lot. She and her aunt got into a really big fight, but she got some notes from her basement, too.”

“Great. Thanks, Lydia. Really.’

“You’re welcome. Try some pastes and the symbols Lexa drew on the paper. Tomorrow. Give Hale a chance to rest.”

“Okay. Tha-”

She hung up before he could thank her again.

He scowled at the phone and put it back in his pocket.

Boyd threw open the door. “Wanna play Clue?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Boyd grinned and left, calling out for Erica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek finally makes an appearance! Sorry that took so long! I hate when things take so long to get to the action, and yet here I am, writing a second fic where things forever to get going. Why do I do the thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what?! I've finished writing this! That means I will be posting chapters on Wednesdays and Saturdays now, at midnight usually! I am super excited to get started on the sequel! :D 
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying this as it progresses!

“—keep the cat over night because she said the cat _only_ has symptoms at night,” Scott said. 

They were sitting across from each other on either side of the line, talking while they waited for Deputy Parrish to come with one of the department’s police dogs. Stiles had a pile of reusable grocery bags beside him that he wanted to pass back to them, along with a book he’d borrowed (with Derek’s permission) that he wanted to ask Lydia to translate. 

“Is there anything _wrong_ with the cat?” Stiles asked. 

“Not that I can tell, other than being completely over Ms. Thorne’s clinginess. He doesn’t like to be held most of the time. What she needs is a plush cat,” Scott said complacently. “To hold at night,” he explained when Stiles lifted his brows.

“Ah, I see. Wasn’t Ms. Thorne our Lit teacher sophomore year?” 

“Yes, and she thinks _because_ she was my teacher she can intimidate me until I magically force her cat to be affectionate with her.”

Stiles laughed and wished he could reach Scott. It was only becoming clear to him _now_ , when his family was out of reach, how often they all touched. 

Little things, too, not just hugs when they saw each other. Grabbing Scott’s shoulder while he laughed, knocking his elbow against John’s when he joked about eating rabbit food, just small points of contact to share the emotion of the moment and now Stiles couldn’t do that. 

He was frustrated. 

“Well, I’m gonna keep him overnight anyway,” Scott sighed. “Just to prove to her nothing is wrong.”

“You show her, Scott.” He snorted. 

Scott made a face at him, scoffing, then turned to his right and grinned. “Hey! You made it.”

Deputy Parrish stepped into view, shaking Scott’s hand in greeting.

“Oh! You brought Daisy,” Stiles said. He got to his feet and smiled. “So, you want to send her over so I can give her these bags?”

“Yeah, sure.” Parrish bent and unclipped her lead, rubbing a hand over her head. 

Daisy wasn’t an active K-9 unit animal anymore—she was too old—but the department kept her around as a sort of mascot. The fire department borrowed her for their school visits during the year. 

Daisy loped across the line and bumped against Stiles’s legs before sitting on his foot.

He gave her a hello pat and started attaching the bags to her vest. 

“Stiles!” Isaac ran up to them, causing Daisy to bristle and growl, getting to her feet and backing up, pressing on Stiles’s legs.

“Yeah? Is something wrong?”

Isaac shook his head. “No, Derek wanted me to give you this. For next time we need groceries.” He held out a check.

Stiles frowned at it. “I can’t take that.” 

“Yes, you can. Derek didn’t want you to buy _all_ the groceries.” 

Stiles sighed and took the check, frowning at it. _Hale Family_ was the name on the check; it was signed _Derek Hale_ and for groceries. 

“I’ll…okay.” He frowned at Scott.

Scott smiled at Isaac. “He means _thank you_ and that he appreciates it.”

Isaac looked at Deputy Parrish, then back at Stiles. “Um, okay. I’ll go tell him. Um.” He left quickly.

“That was weird. He was being very weird. Okay, well. Can you stop by the grocery store for us later?”

“Yeah. Text me a list.” Scott frowned thoughtfully. “But I can’t go until after five.” He looked sad. 

“That’s fine—you’re doing _me_ a favor, remember? Thank you.” Stiles put the check in one of the grocery bags and gave Daisy a friendly pat. “Hey, um. How’s Dad?”

“He’s okay,” Parrish said awkwardly. “Lydia added mouse-eared scorpion grass to his morning mixture. It seems to be working. He’s been remembering things better.”

Stiles nodded. “Good. That’s good. Um…” 

“Right.” Parrish gave Daisy the heel signal.

Stiles held his breath while Daisy crossed the line.

She didn’t even hesitate.

“Cool. That’s one thing the sorceress didn’t think of.” Stiles rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Thanks, guys.”

“No problem,” Scott chirped. “Text me that list.”

“Will do!” 

Isaac came back when they were gone. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said conversationally. 

“Did Derek eat any of the pancakes?”

“Yeah, after he got done…done.” Isaac cringed. “Can we get pizza?” he asked quickly.

“We could _make_ pizza. I’ll put the ingredients on the list.” Stiles squinted at him. “After Derek got done with what?”

Isaac shot him a pained look. “Morning errands?”

“Errands,” Stiles repeated. “Like what? Dusting the picture frames?”

“Yes, something like that,” Isaac muttered. 

Stiles sighed. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

At the house, Boyd was feeding the last of the chocolate chip pancakes to Erica, who had calmed somewhat toward Stiles after a few rounds of Clue. 

“Did you guys save any for Derek?” he asked, exasperated. 

“He ate some,” Boyd said, kissing Erica’s nose.

“Okay. Good. I’m…library,” he said at the same time Erica and Boyd said it. 

“We know,” Erica sighed. “But later can we play catch again? I’m _bored_.” 

Boyd said something under his breath and she grinned widely; Isaac looked horrified. 

“Yeah, we can, um, we’ll have lunch outside.” Stiles was afraid to stay any longer, because Erica seemed to be melting out of her chair and into Boyd’s lap. “Um, see you later.” He fled. He might have felt cowardly for it if Isaac wasn’t hot on his heels.

“They’ll probably move it to their bedroom,” he said hesitantly.

“Probably?” Stiles repeated, shoving the library door open. 

Derek was reading in a chair by the open window. “There have been incidents,” he said dryly, without looking up. 

“Oh, boy,” Stiles huffed, and was briefly horrified to realize he sounded like his father. “Okay, uh, I’m gonna grab some books and try to get some research in.” His notebook looked pretty rough, its state made worse by the cup of water Erica had spilled on it accidentally. 

“Which books should I look in?” Isaac asked.

Stiles hummed, skimming a finger over the titles. “These are all pretty weird. Here, _Sorrow’s Grimoire_ and _Heroes and Spiders_ look good. Try those.”

Isaac accepted the books without protest and trotted to the chair Stiles usually took, folding himself up beside it. 

Stiles saw Derek watching him, but he couldn’t decipher his expression—mostly he always looked ferocious to Stiles unless he smiled. 

Stiles grabbed some books called _Restoration of Glory_ , _Possessed by Eternity_ , and _Mercy_ and took a seat in his usual chair. 

Isaac leaned back against his leg once he settled in his chair.

Derek kept watching them for a few minutes before going back to his book.

_Mercy_ was actually a pretty helpful book, if you read between the lines. He texted Lydia some ideas—milk from a black cow, pure silk robe, a handmade quilt, etc—and looked up, flexing his hand.

Derek had moved so he was propped on Isaac’s leg, and Isaac was leaning more heavily against Stiles’s knee.

Erica had joined them, too, and was painting Isaac’s toenails. 

“Um, lunch? Picnic?” he mumbled, stretching. His back and shoulders popped loudly.

“Yes!” Erica jumped to her feet, smearing the coral polish she’d been working on.

“Hey!” Isaac protested, pulling his legs up. 

“It’s not a good color for you anyway,” she snapped. “What’s for lunch?” she asked Stiles in a much sweeter tone.

“Probably sandwiches. Casual stuff so we can eat it outside.”

 

Erica chopped up fruit and vegetables while Stiles assembled a shit ton of sandwiches. Isaac and Derek were cleaning up a folding table in the backyard, and some chairs. 

“Do you know where Deaton is?” Stiles asked. “We’ve got food!” he called over his shoulder. 

“He’s with Boyd. Just leave them some on the counter, they’ll get it.” 

“What’re they doing?” he asked casually, layering tomatoes on Isaac’s sandwich and reminding himself not to put any mayo or mustard. 

Erica hip-checked him on her way out of the room, her arms full of lidded containers of fruit and vegetables. “Doesn’t matter!” she sang on her way out.

 

Partway through their meal, Boyd joined them with half of the plate of sandwiches Stiles had left for him and Dr. Deaton in the kitchen. Isaac and Erica had finished eating and were wrestling in the grass. Stiles was watching them more than eating, deeply entertained.

Boyd sprawled between Derek and Stiles, snagging a sandwich from Erica’s pile.

They’d abandoned the table pretty much immediately in favor of hanging out in the grass. 

“Do they do this _every time_ they come outside?” Stiles wondered. 

Erica rolled on top of Isaac and Stiles caught sight of her face—it was similar to Derek’s, the flat nose, stick out ears, and glowing eyes. 

When he looked, he found that Isaac’s was the same. 

“Pretty much,” Boyd said, crunching on a carrot. He sniffed. “Is there _pepper_ on the turkey?” 

“Yeah. Some of them don’t have pepper, though. Separate plate.” He pointed.

Erica bit Isaac’s arm when he got on top of her, drawing blood and causing him to yelp.

“Hey! That’s enough,” Stiles called. “Come finish your lunch.”

While they sheepishly crept back to the plates, their faces melting back to normal, Derek watched Stiles. Again. 

Stiles wondered if he resented Stiles giving his pack orders. He shrugged, biting into his sandwich. If Derek had a problem, he could say so.

They played catch for a while, until Erica toppled into a shed and found a metal baseball bat, and they turned it into a casual game.

Derek was _good_ , and Stiles accidentally hit Boyd with the bat. 

“Shit, are you okay? God, your nose!” 

Boyd waved him off, leaning forward to let the blood drip in the grass until— _snap_ —his nose healed itself. 

“Wow. Fast. Uh, sorry. Maybe I’ll just watch,” Stiles said sheepishly. 

He retreated to the table they’d abandoned halfway through the meal and pulled his phone out. He started compiling a list of groceries, but got distracted when Erica viciously slid into home plate (a deflated soccer ball) and knocked Boyd on his ass; he couldn’t help getting a picture. He caught Isaac’s stunned look of mingled awe and fury and couldn’t stop himself from getting another. 

Basically, the werewolves played a stunning game of backyard baseball and Stiles played photographer. 

“You all smell terrible,” he announced when Derek called for the game to end.

They all looked at each other, then jumped on him in a heavy, sweaty pile.

“Very funny!” he wheezed. “Hilarious!”

Isaac rubbed his sweaty face into Stiles’s shirt, laughing when he squawked in protest. 

“Go shower, you heathens! Now I have to shower before I get started on dinner, thanks a lot!”

“You’re welcome,” Boyd said, kneeing Stiles in the kidneys when he shifted his weight.

“Out of all of them, I’d think you had too much dignity for this,” Stiles hissed, trying to squirm free.

“Hah!”

Stiles wiggled until one leg was out from under Erica, crowing with success, when hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him free. 

“Victory!” he cheered, hiding his surprise. He glanced at his shoulder and noticed small tears in his shirt. 

Derek set him on his feet and stepped away quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“No big deal. Thanks, man, they were crushing me.” He grinned at Derek, making him shuffle his feet. “And I’m going to go shower. We’ll get started on dinner soon.”

The others were nowhere to be seen when Stiles got out of the shower, but Derek was in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, running his fingers through his hair. He never could get it to dry properly.

“The betas are showering,” Derek said. “But they requested chicken of…some kind, for dinner.” He looked away, apparently embarrassed. “We’ve had a lot of…venison over the years, so chicken is sort of a novelty.”

“Well, that’s great. I’ve got plenty of ways to make chicken and it’s good for you.” Stiles started pulling cheeses from the fridge. “How do you feel about chicken parmesan?”

“Agreeable. How do you make it?”

“Wash your hands and I’ll show you.”

As before, Derek leaned quickly and listened well, basically cooking the whole thing himself while Stiles supervised. 

“I never really cared about cooking before. My Uncle Ethan was a chef, and my older brother Simon used to like learning from him, practicing and using us as guinea pigs. I never really…had an interest.” Derek looked at the cheese he was carefully spreading over the breaded chicken.

“Oh.” Stiles frowned at the pan. “Um.”

Derek blinked. “That’s not what I meant! I was just—explaining why I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“I see. Well, I don’t mind teaching you. None of the others seem to know how to cook, either.” 

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Okay, put that in the oven.”

They made roasted green beans and a squash/zucchini mix to go with the chicken and boiled some angel hair pasta. 

“Is there anything special you want from the store?” Stiles asked, finishing his list. 

“…Strawberry ice cream?”

Stiles glanced up at him and smiled. “Sure! I’ll add it. Hey, thanks for the check.” He was awkward about money. 

“You shouldn’t have to buy all the groceries, and I felt…bad,” he muttered. 

“Well, thanks. I was getting worried about…funds.” _Stiles. Shut up._

“That smells _so good,_ ” Erica crowed, draping herself over Stiles’s back. Her wet hair fell over his shoulders in heavy curls. 

“Tell Derek. He did all of the work.” 

Stiles stepped back so he could finish sending the list to Scott, thanking him once again.

 

After dinner, Isaac and Stiles met Scott at the line for their groceries—it was a quick visit, because Scott had to get back to observe the cat. 

“Can we have pizza for lunch tomorrow?” Isaac asked, lifting a bag closer to his face. 

“Sure, if you want…”

Back at the house, the betas put the groceries away while Stiles went to the library, and joined him once they were done. Derek took a seat by the window.

 

Stiles nodded off over one of the books and woke up on the floor, in a pile with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. 

“Um.” He looked toward the window, trying to gauge the time. 

Erica’s hair was tickling his cheek. 

“It’s six-forty.” 

Stiles turned his head and saw Derek sitting on a chair looking only partially awake.

“Did you sleep up there?” Stiles asked, pulling his numb hand out from under Boyd’s shoulders. 

“Yeah.” He yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. “I told them to take you to your bed but they thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Stiles looked and found that they were all using Isaac as a pillow. “I don’t. It’s actually pretty comfortable.” He frowned then. “Why didn’t you get down here?”

Derek looked away. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he mumbled. 

“My arm is asleep and Erica is pinning me down like she thinks I might try to escape. You joining the puppy pile isn’t gonna hurt anything.” 

“I, uh, I actually think I’m going to go…to my room. Oh.” He hesitated. “There’s a full moon tonight. So the betas might be a little…rough.”

“I’ll be fine. What do you want for breakfast?” Stiles yawned. He was pretty warm and comfortable, despite the tingling in his arm, and he felt like he could fall back to sleep. 

“I’ll just grab some fruit. You can go back to sleep.”

Stiles was already drifting off.

 

He met Lydia at the line on her lunch break. She had a big bag from the mall on her arm.

“There’s a handmade quilt in there, and a pure silk robe.” She held up a glass bottle. “Heather’s uncle—the one with the farm—got us milk from the black cow. The robe needs to be worn under the full moon.” 

“Oh, good, I thought he’d just wear it around…all…day…” he trailed off when she glared at him.

“He can drink some of the milk while trying the robe if it doesn’t work by itself.” 

“What about the quilt? All I read was that things made by hand have the purity of the intent to create in them. It didn’t say what he should _do_ with it.”

“Try draping him in it if the robe doesn’t work. Make him sleep with it.” She rubbed her temples. 

“You okay?”

“I have a headache from reading Mrs. Paulson’s handwriting. And Jackson.” She waved this away. “Try all of this, let me know how it goes. I have to get back, Lexa’s meeting me for lunch.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Go eat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a fleeting smile and left. 

Stiles peeked into the bag and let out a shout of laughter. The robe was lurid pink and had _DH_ monogrammed on the right. 

He texted Lydia. **You’re so mean!**

**The only one I could get at such short notice was at Taylor’s shop by the mall in the bin. It was already made, no one came to pick it up. Taylor sold it to me for half-price.**

**Nice!** Stiles looked at the robe again, amused. **I hope he’ll actually wear it.**

**He will if he wants to break the curse.**

He figured he’d keep the robe from Derek’s view as long as possible, anyway. 

All three of the betas helped Stiles make lunch, which was an exercise in patience. They were as rambunctious as Derek had warned him they would be, and testy. Boyd and Isaac got into a wrestling match over some black olives, snarling and snapping at each other on the floor until Derek came in and snapped at them to stop that. They scrambled to their feet and huffily went back to making their pizzas. Erica thought it was funny.

When the moon came up, Stiles figured he’d have to let Derek see the robe. 

Erica and Boyd were half-shifted and wrestling in the yard while Derek and Stiles spoke on the porch. 

“So, we have some stuff to try tonight, before you guys go…do whatever you do,” Stiles said. “Stuff for…under the full moon.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.” 

Stiles lifted the bag. “So, um, you can try this silk robe on and see if it works.” He cringed when he lifted the robe out.

Derek let out a short laugh. “Okay. Do I have to do anything in particular…with the robe?”

“We’ll try the robe by itself first, then maybe try drinking a bit of the milk while wearing it.” 

Derek nodded and took the robe. He caught sight of the initials and huffed, before turning the robe around and putting it on. It only went to mid-thigh and strained at his shoulders. He stepped off the porch and onto the yard. He looked up, toward the sky, then back at Stiles. “Nothing.”

Stiles frowned. “Okay, try some milk.” He took the bottle of milk to him. 

“Still nothing.” He grimaced at the taste, frowning at the bottle.

“Um, okay, this might be weird, but maybe the robe needs to be on your bare skin?”

Derek stared at him.

“I can go inside while you try?”

“Okay.”

Stiles nodded and set the bag with the quilt on the porch, then went inside. 

The house seemed incredibly empty and lonely now, despite Deaton’s presence…somewhere within. 

“It didn’t work!” Isaac called, throwing the door open. “Should he take a drink of the milk?”

“Yes.” 

Isaac yelled over his shoulder to Erica, who prodded Derek. “He’s really shy,” he said quietly.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Stiles whispered. 

“That didn’t work either!” Erica bellowed. 

“Okay! Tell Derek he can put his clothes back on!” 

They tried the quilt next. Boyd and Erica shifted to their wolf forms, too impatient to wait for the others, gamboling around the yard like happy puppies. 

Stiles had to remind himself to _never_ let them know he thought that.

“I feel silly,” Derek mumbled. 

He was practically swaddled in the quilt, up to his neck. He looked silly, too. 

“Yeah, okay. Um, you can try sleeping with it tonight when you’re done. You can give it back now and…do whatever you planned to do.”

“We’re just going to run off some energy for the night.” Derek held the quilt out. 

Stiles took it, sighing. “Cool. I’ll set out some leftovers.” He put the quilt in the bag on the steps. “Damn. I really hoped some of those would work this time. I’m gonna hang out in the library and see if there’s anything else we can try with this stuff.” He ran his hand over his face. 

Isaac was half-stripped and half-shifted to Stiles’s right, kicking his shoes off. “See you later, Stiles!” He knocked his cheek against Stiles’s before dropping his pants and joining his pack-mates.

Stiles let out a soft snort and waved. He looked at Derek. “So, can you go full wolf like them?”

“No. I’m _stuck_ like this,” Derek said impatiently. 

“Oh— _oh!_ I thought you couldn’t go back to _human_ form. I’m sorry. I—am an idiot, okay, wow.” Stiles backed up, embarrassed. “I’m going inside now.”

Derek watched him until he shut the door. 

“So, so quiet,” he muttered and decided to go to the kitchen to distract himself. 

As he passed through the dining room, Deaton came from the darkened hallway.

He looked surprised to see Stiles. “You’re still here.”

“Um, yeah. Where else would I be?”

“I thought you would be out running with the pack tonight.”

“I doubt I could keep up.” Stiles frowned at him. “Where were you?”

“Ah…the basement.” He looked at Stiles thoughtfully. “You know Derek doesn’t want you down there.”

“Ri-ight. Okay. So I’m just…gonna go make them some snacks.”

There really weren’t that many leftovers, so Stiles set up what there was and set to making more snacks.

While he was cutting up PB&Js, he wondered what Deaton had been doing in the basement. He wondered why Derek was so adamant about him not seeing the basement, and why he didn’t want him down there _so badly_ that the others felt the need to _remind him._

“Oh my god, it _is_ like Bluebeard,” he muttered, stacking the sandwiches on a plate and moving on to vegetables. “Why doesn’t he want me to go down there? Well, I mean—it doesn’t matter, it’s his house.” Stiles shook his head. “But I wouldn’t have _wanted_ to go to the basement if they hadn’t have _mentioned it._ ”

“Please, go on,” Deaton said blandly from the doorway. “There’s no cable and I’m rather bored.”

Stiles’s face flushed. “I didn’t realize you were there.” He scowled. “You could have said something.”

Deaton only shrugged and walked away. 

Stiles stuck his tongue out at his back and took out some fruit next. 

 

He fell asleep in the library again, and woke squashed between Isaac and Erica, snuggled under the quilt. He blinked blearily and lifted his head. Boyd was curled up next to Erica. He turned and saw Derek on the other side of Isaac, wearing the pink robe and clutching the quilt under his chin.

Stiles huffed a laugh and settled back down; Isaac curled closer, resting his head against Stiles’s shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I've tried editing this as much as possible without a beta (I think I've done better than my previous attempts--I even put it on my kindle app so I could read it in a different format and catch mistakes)! My biggest problem is usually pacing, so, I apologize for any pacing problems. Enjoy! I can't wait to see how everyone likes it when it's all up!

Stiles leaned back on his palms, ticking the toes of his sneakers back and forth.

“Do you ever sit still?” Derek asked.

He was sitting in the grass beside Stiles, watching the storm clouds roll in while the betas were playing in the woods. 

“Not really. I’m glad to be outside. I’m not making any progress, and I figure I can’t be doing any good glaring at the same page for hours.”

Derek sighed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. 

“It’s not like it’s _your_ fault. Unless you’re secretly a sorcerer?” Stiles snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Just kidding.”

Derek just frowned at him.

Stiles picked at his jeans. “So, um, I…had a question.”

“Oh?” 

He chickened out. “What’s with all the picture frames?” he squeaked. 

Derek looked at him. “What?”

“The empty picture frames. All over the house.” He looked away. “I just…wondered, is all.” The silence felt like needles stabbing his ear drums.

“The curse did that,” Derek said at last. He cleared his throat—it sounded like a growl. “Um, when the curse took effect, all of the family pictures were gone.” 

Stiles bit down on his lip. “That—really sucks, man. I’m sorry.” He blew out a soft breath. “Man, I don’t know what I’d do if all my pictures of my mom went missing,” he murmured thoughtfully. 

Derek hummed. “What happened to her?” He flexed his hands, claws leaving little grooves in the ground. “Sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it-”

“It’s alright. Um, I was ten.” Maybe if he told Derek about his mother, Derek would feel comfortable opening up, too. “She got sick, basically. Um. It was a type of dementia, and she was in the hospital for a while but…near the end, she just wanted to be home.” Stiles took a shaking breath, pressing his fingers into the grass until he found dirt. Over their heads, the clouds were coming closer. “Um, it was…bad. She forgot…stuff, like…me. One time, she asked if I had gotten lost and if I wanted her to call my parents, and, naturally, I started crying and freaking out. My dad had to calm both of us down—Melissa helped. She was there a lot, too, so Scott was around.” He cleared his throat.

Derek was watching him, his eyes all wide and sad. He dropped his gaze slightly when Stiles looked back at him.

“Anyway, we walked home from school one day with Melissa, and…there was a nurse at home who was supposed to be watching my mom. Um, she, I guess, she was upstairs, cleaning up the linens…Mom was in the living room by herself, I suppose.” Stiles grimaced. “I guess I must have known _something_ was wrong, because I went bursting into the house before Mel and Scott, and, uh, found my mom on the living room floor.” 

Derek’s head snapped up, his eyes going round with shock.

Stiles forced a smile. “Yeah, that’s actually why I was afraid to go into the house when I first got stuck here? It’s an experience I don’t want to repeat, so…” 

“Right,” Derek murmured. “I’m—sorry. You really didn’t have to tell me.” 

Stiles shrugged. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I mean, it’s always going to be hard to talk about.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs.

“One of the pictures in the dining room was of me and my siblings and cousins holding water guns, standing around my uncle, who we’d tied to a chair with the hose.”

Stiles laughed a little. “That’s cute. Why the hose?”

“He cheated!” Derek shouted, as if he still hadn’t gotten over the indignity. “We were using water guns and he abandoned his to grab the hose! No one _else_ used the hose!” He huffed. “Stop _laughing_ , he cheated!” 

Stiles wiped his cheeks—he wasn’t sure if the tears had been from talking about his mother or from laughter, but it felt nice either way. “Tell me about some of the other pictures.” 

Derek nodded. “Sure. Another one in the dining room is all of us at the hospital with my Aunt Laini when she had my youngest cousin Lucy.” 

“That’s sweet.” Stiles sighed wistfully. “I always wanted cousins and siblings and stuff. I have Scott,” he added. 

“It’s…nice.” Derek flicked his tongue over his fangs. “I mean, it’s never quiet.”

“I bet. I had to make all the noise in the house myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure that was _very_ difficult for you.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Very funny. I don’t _actually_ mean to make as much noise as I do.” He looked up when the yard darkened. “Guys, it’s about to rain!” he called out.

Derek laughed a little, then tipped his head back. “We’ve still got a while yet.”

Stiles squinted at him. “Oh-kay.” His phone buzzed. “Oh, hey, Scott’s here. He’s got some flowers I wanted to try. Daisy and freesia,” he said brightly. “Might work.”

“Okay.” 

“So, I’ll be right back—or you could come, if you wanted,” he offered hesitantly. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m going to wait for the betas here.”

Stiles stood up, brushing off his jeans. “If you want. Try to get them inside before it rains. It’ll cut down on the mud.” He grinned and waved before bounding off to the line. 

“Hey! Thanks for bringing those,” Stiles called out when he caught sight of Scott.

Scott beamed and lifted the flowers in greeting. “No problem, bro. I was on my way to the hospital to bring Mom some dinner anyway.”

“Oh, cool. I was just out in the yard with-” he began, letting out a shocked yelp when Scott pitched forward violently. He leapt forward automatically, hands out to catch him. 

Scott managed to steady himself, scrambling away from the property line unsteadily. He dropped the flowers in his rush to steady himself. He looked at Stiles, wide eyed and pale.

“What happened?” Stiles demanded, pressing his fist to his chest.

“Something pushed me!” He looked over his shoulder. “It felt like someone’s hands shoved me!” 

“There was no one there!” Stiles felt a chill and looked around. “There _shouldn’t_ be anyone.” He swallowed. “Just kick the flowers over and just—go, okay? You need to stay away from the line. What—what if you got stuck, too?” He pulled his hands through his hair. “Just…yeah.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’ll just stay further away. I’m not _never_ coming back.” He tossed the flowers to Stiles and stepped back quickly. “See? All good. But I do have to take Mom some food now. Um, it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Bye!” 

Stiles glared into the trees on the other side of the property line. There still didn’t seem to be anyone there. He picked at the flower stems. 

Thunder rumbled above him, breaking his concentration. He sighed and went back to the house. 

He was met at the door by Derek. “Oh, hey. Um, did everyone—I mean, is everyone inside?”

“Yes. They’re all in the kitchen. I’ve been told we are to stay out of the kitchen. They want to make dinner for us?”

Stiles laughed. “Well, okay. I guess while they do that, we can try these flowers.”

“Okay.”

They went to the bathroom by Stiles’s room again, since that’s where he left all of his tools.

Derek sat on the edge of the tub, watching while Stiles separated a couple of daisies and freesia from the bundle. 

“What are we going to do with them?” 

“Well, the plan is to make a paste with these, and you can put it on your face. If that doesn’t work, we can put some in spring water and you can drink it.”

Stiles cut the flowers and stems into pieces, then scooped them into the mortar. 

“How…how was your friend?”

Stiles grimaced, twisting the pestle in his hand. “Well, since you ask, he, um…when he was close to the line, he almost fell over the line. Like someone had pushed him.”

Derek surged to his feet, a low growl coming from behind his fangs. “ _What?!_ ” he snarled. He seemed to be taking up twice as much space as he usually did, making Stiles feel cornered and small. 

Stiles grip on the pestle tightened, trying to stop himself from backing up. “We didn’t see anyone when we looked, but he said it felt like someone had pushed him.”

Derek nodded and slowly eased back, as if he realized what he’d been doing. 

“Do you…have any idea what might have happened?” Stiles asked cautiously, still grinding the flowers up.

“No,” Derek muttered. “None of the others were pushed over the line.” 

Stiles nodded. He turned to the sink and wet his fingers, flicking some water into the bowl. “Hey, on that subject,” he said, clearing his throat, “how did Boyd and Erica get stuck?” He used the knife to stir the paste. 

“Oh.” Derek sat back on the edge of the tub. “I think they were wandering around. Um. Looking for some privacy.” 

“I’m shocked, really,” Stiles said, dryly. 

Derek laughed. “They’re in love,” he said in a soft, tolerant tone. 

Stiles hummed, chancing a glance at him. “The paste’s done. Go ahead and spread it over your face like a mask and we can see if that’ll work.”

“Okay.”

The paste didn’t work, so Derek washed it off and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of spring water. He returned with it, looking harassed.

“They got mad at me for trying to get into the kitchen,” he said indignantly.

“They’re still not done cooking?” Stiles laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, hand it over. We can try this and maybe they’ll be done.” 

He cut up the petals and dropped them in the water, capping it and shaking it up. “Okay, big guy. Try that.” 

Derek grimaced and took it. “It looks gross.”

“Yeah, it does. Chug, chug, chug!” He laughed, leaning his hip against the counter. 

Another grimace, followed by Derek tipping the bottle back and chugging. He swallowed the last of it and coughed, setting the bottle aside. “Blech.” 

Stiles watched his face for signs of change, letting out a long sigh when he saw none. 

“Well, I guess we can check if they’re done yet.” 

“Not yet!” Erica sang when they reached the foyer. 

“We’re almost done!” Boyd added. 

Isaac was guarding the door of dining room, which was apparently also off limits. 

Stiles sighed. “Library?”

Derek nodded resignedly. 

Stiles was telling him about the time he and Scott had gotten into a paint fight in first grade art class when Isaac came to get them. 

“We got in so much trouble. We obviously had to get picked up, we were covered head-to-toe. For the rest of the year, we were only allowed to use crayons and colored pencils in art class.”

“You-” Derek began, stopping a second before the door opened.

“Dinner’s ready!” Isaac chirped. “Come on.”

Stiles lifted his brows and glanced at Derek, who shrugged, bemused. 

They followed Isaac to the dining room, where Erica and Boyd were waiting in the doorway, blocking their view. 

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, looking at the bags in Boyd’s hands.

“That’s _our_ dinner. Yours is on the table. Enjoy!” Erica chirped, grabbing Boyd’s arm and sweeping by. 

Isaac pushed Derek and Stiles lightly before following Boyd and Erica. Stiles glanced at Derek, who shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

They stepped into the dining room and stared silently, side-by-side.

“…Is that a table cloth?”

“It seems to be.”

The table was set with a white table cloth, with candles and a vase of (somewhat bedraggled) wildflowers in the center. Two plates were set across from each other on the far end. The lighting seemed different. 

“How did they dim the lights?” Stiles asked, impressed. His stomach growled, now that he could smell the food. “I didn’t realize there was a dimmer, I just thought there was a normal switch.”

“There isn’t a dimmer,” Derek said, tipping his head back. “Boyd took a couple of bulbs out of the fixture.”

“Oh.” Stiles laughed. “Well, I guess we should eat. It _smells_ good.”

“Yes.” Derek shuffled to his chair. “Sorry about this,” he said abruptly, before he sat down. “I don’t know what they’re doing.”

Stiles shrugged, grinning. “It’s okay. They cooked for us, so, hey, less work for me.” He leaned in to move the vase. “So I can actually see you,” he explained. He sat and looked at his plate. “Steak and roasted vegetables. Yum.” He sniffed, before carefully cutting a piece and taking a bite. “Mmm, they used lime and chili powder. It’s good,” he said, delighted. “Try some!” 

“It is good. You’re a good teacher.”

Stiles smiled. “Thanks.”

There was tension in the air, though Stiles thought it came from the surprise of what the betas had done than the company. He hoped, anyway.

“You and Scott got into a lot of trouble when you were kids, then?” Derek asked. 

“ _Trouble_ is a strong word.” Stiles smirked, tapping his fork against the side of his plate absently. “We weren’t _bad_ and no one ever got hurt. We were just…mischievous.” He tipped his head. “Weren’t you like that with your siblings?”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrors.” Derek smiled, leaning forward eagerly. “Once, Laura and Simon convinced us to wash everyone’s cars, but all that happened was we ended up soaked and the yard was turned into a mud pit. Mom was furious, especially because Uncle Peter helped with the mess. We were all grounded—she tried to keep it up for two weeks, but after one week with seven kids under eighteen, grounded and stuck in the house, she gave up for all of our sanity.” 

Stiles laughed. “Nice. Did the cars get clean anyway?” He took a distracted bite, too caught up in the gleam of amusement in Derek’s eyes. 

“Yeah, that was the first chore she had us do after grounding us.” 

“That’s something, at least.” He leaned in unconsciously, resting his elbow on the table and leaning against it. “You know, it’s strange…your eyes…they don’t look as red, in the candlelight.”

Derek let out a soft, awkward laugh, dropping his gaze. “They’re always red.” 

“Yeah…” Stiles shook himself a little. “Hey, after we eat this, do you want to have some ice cream?” he asked. “I got the strawberry you wanted.”

“Sure.”

The next silence was easier, filled with the clink of cutlery against their plates while they finished their meal.

“Wow. That was delicious. Maybe we should have them cook every night,” Stiles chuckled. 

“They probably only know how to make this one thing. We’d be having a lot of this,” Derek said. “But it’s good,” he added, glancing toward the doorway.

Stiles lifted his brows, but Derek only shook his head. “Well, ice cream?”

“Yes.”

They took their plates to the kitchen, where Stiles discovered that the betas had stacked all of the dishes they’d used into the sink.

“Ugh. Looks like it’s our turn to do the dishes.” Stiles grimaced. “I might get started on them, actually, before dessert?”

“Sure. I can help.” Derek set his plate in the sink and pulled open a drawer, taking out a couple of dishrags. 

Doing dishes was a loathed chore, but having company made it easier and less harrowing.

Once they’d finished and all the dishes were on the drying rack, they got the ice cream out and made themselves bowls, settling on the kitchen floor to eat.

“This was very nice of them,” Stiles commented. “I wonder why they did it, though.” He knew _what_ they were trying to do—candles, dim lighting, private meal, it wasn’t hard to figure out—but he didn’t understand _why_.

“I don’t know.” Derek was scowling at his bowl. “They’re being weird.”

Stiles shrugged, spooning up some of his ice cream. “Well, it was a good dinner. With good company,” he added, knocking his sneaker against Derek’s ankle gently. 

“Thanks.” He looked away again, endearingly bashful.

“You’re cute,” Stiles said, laughing and taking another bite.

Derek looked up, eyes widening. “That’s not funny,” he muttered, looking away just as quickly.

Stiles frowned. “I wasn’t trying to be?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t cute,” he snapped. “There’s nothing cute about _this_.” He gestured jerkily at his face.

Stiles’s eyes widened. “Okay, um, I don’t know why you’re angry, but maybe you should consider the fact that I wasn’t talking about how you _look._ ”

“I…” Derek looked away. “Sorry. I just…” He stopped and just…sat there, quiet and still, ice cream bowl resting forgotten on his leg.

Stiles scowled at him. “You know, it’s okay to be angry about being cursed. I understand that you’re probably sensitive about being stuck like that.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to insult you, and I wasn’t joking.” He forced himself to smile, trying to gather that good, companionable feeling around him again. “I do think you’re cute.”

“Thanks,” Derek whispered, his shoulders still tight.

“Good.” Stiles brushed at his jeans and lifted his ice cream bowl again. In his pocket, his phone buzzed a couple times, but he ignored it in favor of watching Derek discreetly. 

“What?” he muttered. 

Maybe not so discreetly. 

“Nothing.” 

“You can check your phone. I heard it,” Derek said. 

“Okay. I thought it would be rude.” 

“We’re not at the table.” 

“Right.” Stiles set his bowl aside and pulled out his phone. 

Lydia had texted him twice. 

‘ **You tried the daisy and freesia, right? I didn’t think they would work. I was surprised when you only had two things to try today.** ’  
‘ **You aren’t giving up, are you?** ’

Stiles scowled and replied, ‘ **I’m not giving up, but I am running out of ideas. I think we’re missing something about the curse. I just need to figure out what it is.** ’

She didn’t reply right away, so he put his phone down and leaned his head back against the cabinet behind him. 

“Your phone is huge.”

“Huh?”

Derek nodded toward Stiles’s leg, where his phone was. “Your cell phone. After a few years, all of ours stopped working. Not that I had anyone to call anyway. Isaac’s phone is like yours, but I think it’s a few models older.”

“Ah, yeah. iPhone is kicking ass.” He shrugged and held the phone out “Here, there’s some games on it, if you want to try it.”

Derek enjoyed Pocket Frogs (Stiles had forgotten he even _had_ that game) and Candy Crush, and he was pretty good at the latter. 

After they’d finished their ice cream, Stiles got a text from his father. 

“I’m going to meet my dad at the line. You can…come, um, if you want,” he offered awkwardly. 

Derek shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to take a walk.” 

“Okay. Hey, this was nice,” Stiles said, smiling. He winked. “Maybe we should make it a regular thing. Be back in an hour or so!” he added over his shoulder as he went out the door.

 

John was waiting, standing about a yard away from the line. “Hey, kid,” he said tiredly. “Scott told me what happened.” His eyes were bloodshot, his hair standing in disarray. 

“Yeah. Just stay back. You doing okay, Dad?”

“Yes. I’m only a little tired. Having trouble sleeping.” 

“Why? The curse?” Stiles demanded. 

John held up his hands. “Calm down, _no_. I’m just worried, so I just…whatever, it’s fine.” He put his hands on his hips. “How’re you doing?”

“Good, fine.” Stiles smiled. “Erica, Boyd, and Isaac made Derek and me dinner.”

“Derek…he’s the Hale, right?”

“Yeah. He’s the Cursed.” Stiles pressed his lips together and lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged. “Do you remember that time Scott and I climbed up on the counter and ate part of Scott’s birthday cake?”

John laughed loudly as he took a seat, too. “Yeah. I thought your mom was going to wring your necks. I had to remind her that you were five and probably hadn’t realized it was Scott’s birthday cake that she’d spent hours cooking and decorating.” 

“Wasn’t it the green Power Ranger?” Stiles recalled, picking at the grass.

“Um, I think so. Your mom wouldn’t allow _anything_ green Ranger related in the house for months. She said she got rage flashbacks and had to mow the lawn or something equally physical every time she saw one.” 

Stiles smiled. “I remember _that._ You said they were on vacation.”

John snorted. “I had to say something when we locked them up in the attic for a few months.” He shook his head. “You know, I never knew how you two got up on that counter. There wasn’t even a chair close by.” 

Stiles snickered. “I got down on all fours and let Scott stand on my back, and he pulled me up.” 

John rolled his eyes. “Terrors, the two of you.” 

They spent another forty-five minutes talking about other little disasters, happy memories with Claudia that they rarely spoke of anymore. 

By the time an hour had passed, it was almost full dark, and both Stilinski men had tear tracks on their cheeks.

“Well, I got to get back. I’m working the overnight.”

“Okay. Yeah, I better go back, too. Thanks, Dad, for…you know.”

“I do. Yeah. This was good.” He smiled tightly. “I love you, son.”

“I love you, too.” Stiles put his hands in his pockets, curling his hands into fists. 

 

Back at the house, everyone was in the as-yet-unexplored living room. Boyd was stretched out, belly down, on the rug and Erica was sprawled on his back, chin pillowed on her arms. Isaac was curled up on the recliner, watching Stiles watch them.

“Are you guys watching _UP_?” he asked at last.

Derek, on the couch, looked up at him. “Yes.”

“Cool.” Stiles kicked his shoes off in the hall and went to the couch, flopping down beside Derek. “I love this movie.”

He settled in and felt Derek staring at him, but he decided the best way to put Derek at ease was to ignore him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pack totally ships it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! They make me so happy!! :D I've started working on the sequel to this already. I should have waited until after NaNoWriMo but I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know how you like it! ;D
> 
> **I've also been informed that the way my family played Uno was different from the official rules, which I didn't realize until after this. So, whoops. Sorry!**

Derek was stubborn. Stiles was also stubborn. This meant they could be stuck at a stalemate for a while without a mediator. 

“You’re going to have to give in. You know you are,” Boyd said impatiently. “If you don’t try it, you’ll think about it _forever._ ”

Derek scowled at him. “It’s _horse hair._ ” 

“But it might work,” Stiles put in quickly. “Plus, it’ll be ashes and spring water by the time we put it on you.” He had a short braid of horse hair from a white yearling mare in his back pocket—Scott had brought it to him quicker than he’d expected. 

“But it _smells_ ,” Derek whined.

Boyd scoffed.

“Fine,” he growled. 

“Awesome! Go step outside while I burn this. Boyd, don’t let him go anywhere.” Stiles pulled out the hair and his lighter. 

Derek gave the hair a dark look before following Boyd out of the bathroom. 

Once the ashes were done, he dripped water from a bottle carefully into the mortar, then mixed it gently until it resembled a paste. 

“Okay, it’s ready!” 

“He’s coming,” Deaton said from the doorway. “Did the mare _have_ to be white?”

“Yes, and young,” Stiles replied. “We can try other colors, I suppose, but the white should purify any bad spells. Black would work, too,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Scott about that next.” 

“Hmm…” Deaton hummed before walking away.

Stiles shook his head and took his phone out to check in with John. His reply was short, which meant the herbs were wearing off again.

“You better work,” he muttered to the ashes.

Derek and Boyd returned; Boyd looked smug and Derek looked harassed. 

“Go ahead and put that on your face.”

“Why does it have to be my _face_?” he complained.

“Dude,” Boyd said scornfully, making Derek shoot Stiles a dark glare.

“ _See what you’ve done?_ ” he hissed. “Don’t call me dude!”

Boyd and Stiles snickered.

“Just do it,” Stiles said. “Once you try it, you’re done for the day.”

“ _Fine._ ” 

Stiles leaned against the counter, checking his phone while Derek spread the paste on his cheeks and forehead. 

Lydia texted him that Lexa was casting remembrance spells on John’s herbs, but she didn’t know how long they’d work against such a powerful curse. 

He thanked her and tossed the phone on the counter, annoyed. He rubbed his fist against his chest. 

“It didn’t work,” Derek grumbled. He looked like a bad tempered puppy that had gotten into grandma’s ashes. 

Boyd snorted and handed him a rag.

 

They ate a quick breakfast after Derek was cleaned up, then set up Monopoly on the dining table (the lighting was back to normal, all bulbs returned) and started playing.

“Oh,” Erica said, mockingly sympathetic. “Welcome to Death Valley. Pay up, please.” 

She owned the entire side of the board to the right of **Go** , where all of the expensive properties were.

Isaac scowled at her and coughed up the money.

When Isaac and Boyd started fighting over the rules, Stiles called for a lunch break.

“Come on! We’re eating sandwiches outside to get some fresh air.”

Boyd scowled at Isaac, then got up to help in the kitchen.

As Stiles followed him, he heard Isaac ask Derek where the rule book was and snickered under his breath. 

“I _told_ you I was right!” Boyd crowed when they’d finished making the sandwiches and caught Isaac with the rulebook. 

He dropped it, flustered. “We played it differently at my house,” he muttered.

Even Boyd looked surprised at that. Isaac so rarely mentioned his home life that they were all struck silent whenever he did.

“Let’s go get some fresh air,” Stiles suggested. “Then, as long as everyone _stays calm_ , we can keep playing.”

Outside, Derek spread a blanket over the grass instead of bothering with the table while Boyd and Stiles set the trays of sandwiches out. 

Since it was noon, they were pretty ravenous, so the plates emptied quickly. Once fed, the betas mellowed out, rolling around the yard playfully. 

Stiles squinted at the trees, then up at the sky. It was warm and sunny—not unusual for June in Beacon Hills—and breezy, which was a plus.

“Anyone want to play hide and seek?” he asked impulsively. He saw Derek look at him sharply and turned. “What? Everyone could use some movement, you know, burn off some energy.”

“Can I be It?” Erica called, sitting down on top of Isaac’s legs. “I like hunting.” She grinned wickedly.

“Fine, you can be It.” Stiles stood up, brushing crumbs off his shorts. 

“I’ll count to a hundred. That way you have time to hide,” she explained. “You’re slow and can’t follow scents like us.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. 

She shrugged, unembarrassed. “Go! Hide!” She flopped onto the blanket and put her head down on her arms and started counting out loud.

Stiles bolted to his feet and took off running.

Isaac went off to the right, and Boyd shot off toward the front of the house. Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see where Derek had gone, but he couldn’t see him. He did trip slightly, which made him pay attention to where he was going, at least.

He hesitated under a thick tree, tipping his head back.

“She’d find you in about twenty seconds.”

Stiles jumped. “No sneaking up on the human!” he snapped, pressing his hand to his chest. 

Derek laughed. “Sorry. Climb the tree. Only part of the way. She’ll waste time climbing it to check.” 

Stiles squinted at him.

“You do that a lot. Do you need glasses?”

“ _No_ , I was just—never mind. Thanks for the tip.” He eyed the tree, wiping his hands on his shorts. He paused and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to watch me?”

“Just to make sure you don’t fall.” Derek smiled at him, a smile that bared even more of his fangs than usual.

“Ha. Ha.” Stiles scoffed and started climbing. When he got a few feet up, Derek called him back down. “Seriously? This is far enough?”

“She’ll catch your scent up that far and just rush ahead.” 

“Oh. Nice.” Stiles started easing back down, his hands shaking slightly. The getting-down part was always harder than getting _up_ the tree. He almost missed a branch and gripped the tree tighter, biting down on a yelp when a hand smacked down on his ass. _Hard._ And stayed there. “Um! Ow!”

“Oh my god.” Derek took his hand off, jumping away like he’d been burned. “Oh my _god_. I’m sorry, I’m—I was—I thought you were falling, I just-”

“It’s okay, just help me down,” he laughed. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m just going to…um, put my hand, uh…are you sure you’re stuck?”

“Derek,” Stiles said, pressing his cheek against the bark of the tree. “Just grab my legs, okay?”

“Okay…” He grabbed Stiles’s legs, making him flinch—he was maybe slightly ticklish on his legs—and quickly stepped back from the tree, then set him on his feet. 

“Thanks.” He grimaced and rubbed his ass. “Ow, good god, you’ve got a strong swing.”

“Sorry!” Derek wiped his hands on his jeans. “I was just trying to keep you from falling.” 

“It’s fine. Okay, any ideas for a hiding spot?” Stiles grinned. “We’re a team now. You had your hand on my ass.”

Derek huffed. “Fine.” 

He led the way to the far side of the property, where the trees thickened, and had them stop at about four trees and partially climb them.

“Erica finished counting,” he muttered. “Now we should double back.” 

“Why?”

“Because she’ll get frustrated and look for the other two first. We can climb up one of the trees we stopped at.”

“Okay. Which one?”

“The third one.”

“No matter what, please, keep the smacks gentle, I think you bruised my ass cheek.”

Derek grumbled under his breath. “I should leave you for Erica to find,” he mumbled.

“I’m just kidding, I’m sorry, okay, I’m done.” He grinned. “Wanna help me up?” he asked, looking up at the tree.

“This isn’t the right tree.” 

“Oh.” 

When they reached the “right” tree—Stiles maintained that it was the wrong one, but that was mostly just to get Derek’s werewolf cheeks all flushed with irritation—Derek helped him up.

Stiles could only get up into the leaves before he decided the ground looked way too far away. 

“We’re too low,” Derek pointed out.

“ _My_ bones don’t heal in seconds,” Stiles hissed. “The higher up we go, the more danger I’m in.”

Derek snorted. “I won’t let you fall. Come on, just a few more branches.”

“Ugh, fine. If you feel the branches shaking, just—just pretend it’s the wind.” 

Once they were nestled in the thick leaves, Derek deemed them hidden enough. 

“Well, you’ve got me alone, now what?” He held his hands up. “Sorry, sorry, I’m done, that was the last joke.”

“I said I was _sorry_. I wouldn’t do that on purpose,” Derek muttered. 

“I have it on good authority that this ass is both cute and smack-able.” 

Derek covered his face. “I meant I normally wouldn’t put my hands on someone without permission.”

“Oh. That’s a good policy. I was just teasing. I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

Stiles shifted his weight. He was balanced on a branch on the opposite side of the tree as Derek, and he had his doubts about Derek’s ability to stop him from falling, should he tumble. He couldn’t figure out why he’d even agreed to climb that high, except that Derek had asked. 

“Hide and seek was a good idea,” he said. “They needed to get outside.”

“Right, I thought Boyd was going to pop Isaac on the head with the game box.” He rubbed his hand over his cheek, thinking about Lydia’s text. “Sorry I made you try the horse hair,” he sighed. “I hoped it would work.”

“You hope a lot,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles straightened. “Well, yeah. I have to. Otherwise, I’m just some guy stuck here, depressed and cooking.” He pushed leaves out of his face. “What, would you prefer if I just gave up, let us all stay stuck here?”

“No, you’re right. It’s just that nothing is working.” He closed his eyes briefly. “But thank you for trying. I’ll try everything you want, if you think it’ll break the curse.” His tone sounded odd, guilty. 

Stiles frowned at him. “Cool. Good. We’re on the same page, we both want the curse broken. Great.” He smiled. “I think we’re winning hide and seek.”

“Erica’s found Isaac and Boyd,” Derek said, tipping his head. 

“Oh…”

“They went to the house to look for us.” He looked at the ground below them. “We can make it to the base and win. Let me help you down.”

Once they were on the ground, Stiles looked at Derek.

“If you can hear them from _here_ , won’t they hear us from the back _yard_?” 

“Not if we’re fast enough,” Derek said with a wide grin. And he took off running, fast enough that Stiles had no chance of catching up.

“ _Cheater!_ ” he yelled, racing to keep up.

Derek was declared winner of hide and seek, despite Stiles’s insistence that they have a rematch.

They decided to switch to Uno in the spirit of saving friendships and the furniture. They put Monopoly away with no little amount of relief. Deaton joined them for Uno, which amused Stiles deeply.

“Uno!” Boyd shouted, doing a sort of victory wiggle in his chair. 

“Very nice,” Stiles said approvingly.

“ _Very nice_ ,” Erica mocked. “You—cheated!”

“I did _not_.”

“Yes, you did, you can’t keep reversing that’s just—not fair!” She was pouting.

“Maybe it’s not _fair_ , but it’s not against the rules,” Boyd sang in a passable imitation of Erica’s usual method of taunting.

She scowled at him.

Stiles wiggled his brows at Derek across the table, making him snort.

“Okay, just—everyone keep it civil. Winner gets out of dinner and dish duty,” Stiles added, grinning.

“Well,” Erica snorted, “we know it’s obviously going to be the _cheater._ ”

“I only looked, Ricky, I promise, nothing happened,” Boyd said dryly.

Isaac sputtered on the drink he’d just taken of his ice water. “ _What_ did you call her?”

Erica’s face flushed. She elbowed Boyd hard in the stomach, which just made him grin.

“Back to the game! Isaac, please, take your turn.”

He set down a Wild Draw 4, and sent the table into disarray—Derek laid down the same card, leaving Stiles to draw 8 cards. 

“Who’s losing _now?_ ” Erica taunted.

“Um, Boyd is still going to win, so _all of us?_ ” Isaac guessed sarcastically.

Erica scowled again, eyes gleaming gold.

Boyd won, no surprise, and Erica came in second, which she wasn’t happy about.

“Don’t be upset, babe,” Boyd said brightly. “You’re the first loser.”

She scowled at him. “First loser?” Her nostrils flared.

He smiled at her.

Stiles was almost touched to see that the smile dampened the temper flames shooting out of her eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll help with dinner.” Erica shoved away from the table and stalked away.

Stiles pointed at Isaac and Derek. “You two are going to make cake for dessert. Deaton can be on dish duty.”

Deaton nodded in acceptance, putting his card collection down with a faint look of disgust. 

In the kitchen, Erica was glaring into the fridge. 

“What do you want to make?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“Dunno,” she muttered. “I hate losing. I hate _Uno._ ” 

“What games do you like?” he asked. He stepped further into the kitchen, leaning around her to look into the fridge.

They were running low again. Werewolves ate a _lot_.

“Racing. Battleship. _War._ ” 

“The card game, right?” He grinned when her eyes narrowed. “They’re just games, Erica.”

She huffed. “Can we bake barbeque chicken?”

“Sure. Do you know how?”

“Show me.”

Erica by herself, with no Boyd to soften her and no Isaac to direct her aggression at, bristled at gentle corrections, preened at light praise, and, surprisingly, listened well to instruction, even when it seemed she wasn’t.

“Oven. What sides do you want to make with it?”

“French fries, duh.” She smirked. “And broccoli,” she conceded when he lifted his brows.

He smirked back. “Okay, then. Get the oil. You can make the fries.”

They started by slicing up potatoes.

“Why’d you trade places with the sheriff?” she asked as she cut. Every so often, she would bump her elbow against his gently, acting like it was an accident, though he suspected it was on purpose. 

“He’s my dad. He, I don’t know. He’d have been stuck here and I couldn’t just leave him.”

“But you got stuck.”

“So?” He smiled at her. “You should be grateful. He can’t cook _and_ he wouldn’t know what to try for breaking the curse.” He laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension.

Erica kept frowning. “If the curse breaks-”

“You mean, _when_ we break the curse,” Stiles corrected.

She sighed. “ _When_ we break the curse, I don’t…my family doesn’t remember me, obviously. I don’t know where I’d go.”

“Um, do you think Derek will kick you out?”

Her frown deepened. “Well, no, but-”

“You’d be welcome to stay with me. But Derek won’t kick you out. You’re his pack.” 

She surprised him by setting her head against his shoulder for a moment. “Okay. Thank you.” Then she went back to the potatoes. 

They let Derek, Isaac, and Deaton get their own plates, but Erica insisted on taking Boyd’s to him, to apologize for getting angry. 

“I can give you another check for groceries,” Derek said, when it was just him and Stiles in the kitchen. “For more. So we can stock up. I know we eat a lot.”

“Cool. We can all make a list.” He’d tell Scott to put gas in Melissa’s van with his own card, to thank them for all the back and forth trips. 

“Okay. Thanks for cooking.”

He waved a hand. “I had Erica do most of the work.” He pressed a mocking palm over his heart. “They’re all such good students.”

Derek smiled before going back to the dining room.

Stiles hummed under his breath while he made his own plate. He laughed when someone hummed the next few bars and turned around, expecting Isaac, possibly Boyd, and saw…no one. A chill fluttered over the back of his neck.

“That’s not funny,” he said, because he knew how quick and quiet they could be.

“What’s not funny?” Isaac called, poking his head into the room.

“Whoever was trying to scare me.” Stiles picked up his plate and scowled.

“No one was trying to scare you.”

Stiles clicked his tongue impatiently. Now he sounded like Melissa. “Well, someone was humming behind me.”

“I thought that was you.”

“It was, at first, but…never mind. Just never mind.”

Isaac frowned worriedly at him as they crossed the dining room to get to their chairs.

“Is everything okay?” Derek asked slowly.

“Yep.” Stiles smiled widely. “Enjoy your meal. You’re baking a cake once you finish.”

He snorted. “You’re the one who has to show us how.”

Stiles kept smiling. “Actually, there’s a cookbook in the library that you two can use while I supervise.”

Isaac looked horrified. “You aren’t going to help?”

Stiles smiled. “I have faith in you.”

Erica speared a piece of broccoli and bit it, smiling viciously. “Good luck.” 

“The chicken is good,” Boyd said, tipping his head toward her.

Erica obligingly kissed his cheek. “Enjoy it. Because you’re going to cook tomorrow.”

Boyd looked at Stiles quickly, as if to confirm that.

“Breakfast,” he said with an easy smile.

“I’ll help,” Derek said.

“There you go. But Derek’s still helping with the cake.”

“Damn.”

While the dishes were being washed by Isaac and Deaton, Stiles went to the library to get the cookbook. He passed his usual chair and hesitated, glancing down.

A well-loved book titled _Faery Tales_ was on the seat, as if someone had been reading it and had gotten distracted.

He frowned at it. He remembered finding it in non-fiction when he’d first come to the house. 

With a dismissive shrug, he went and got the cookbook he’d skimmed through the day before. He’d bookmarked the cake—a simple yellow cake with chocolate frosting. He’d made sure they had the ingredients already, so they couldn’t wiggle out of it.


	11. Chapter 11

Isaac slammed his hand down on the card table in front of Stiles, breathing heavily. The green ribbon he’d put down was dirty and frayed, but it was the same ribbon Stiles had hidden in the trees a few minutes before.

Stiles hit the stopwatch. “Nice! Three minutes!”

Erica came next, her red ribbon held high in her fist. “Damn it!” she snarled when she saw Isaac.

“Three-ten,” Derek said, hitting his stopwatch. “Sorry. Isaac wins that round.”

Deaton and Boyd had gone to the basement during lunch, which drove Stiles crazy, since everyone acted like they had no clue where Boyd and Deaton had gone. He’d dragged everyone else outside for lunch and then this game.

“It’s my turn,” Derek said. “I called playing winner,” he added, smiling.

“It’s true. Come on, being a judge is better,” Stiles coaxed when Erica scowled. 

The mutinous look on Erica’s face finally fell away. “Okay, fine.” 

“ _And_ you can hide the ribbons,” he said generously. 

“Oh, can I? _Thanks,_ ” she simpered, glaring. 

“Hey,” Derek said in a low warning voice. 

She pouted. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She held her hand out for the ribbons. 

Once they were hidden and Erica was back and seated, stopwatch at the ready, they counted to three and let Derek and Isaac take off at a run. 

“I’ll win the next round,” she muttered. “Even if Derek wins this time.”

“I’m sure you will.” Stiles kept one eye on the trees and one on the stopwatch, anxious for Isaac. “You’re pretty fast. Isaac’s just…”

“Faster?” she prompted sweetly. 

“I was going to say he’s got a better nose than you, actually, so he’s got an advantage.” 

“Oh.” She tapped her fingers. “Can I paint your nails later? And if you say nail polish is for girls, I will bite you.” 

“Sure, and I wouldn’t dare.” He shot her a smile and looked back at the trees. 

On the table by his arm, his phone chimed, but he opted to keep watching for Isaac. 

Derek flew out of the woods first, at two minutes, thirty-seven seconds.

Isaac managed three-oh-five, looking put out. 

Erica leapt to her feet. “I’ll race next!” 

“Okay.”

“Hang on, let me check my phone. Lydia texted.”

Derek and Isaac took a moment to catch their breath, leaning against the table. 

Lydia said, ‘ **I have the egg and feather you needed. From the Rhode Island Red hen? Meet me in ten** ’

“Oh. Damn.” He looked up. “I have to meet Lydia in ten minutes.”

“We can hide the ribbons in three, be done in two, and make it to the line in five,” Isaac said, snatching up the ribbons and bolting. 

Stiles laughed. “Okay, then.” He texted Lydia that he’d be there. 

“Isaac’s almost back.” Erica leaned forward on the balls of her feet. 

Because he feared they’d take off before Isaac got back to his stopwatch, Stiles had both, thumbs on the start buttons. 

“Go, go!” Isaac shouted as he ran into view.

Derek and Erica took off, and Stiles pressed the start buttons on both watches. 

Isaac sat in the empty chair and took his stopwatch from Stiles, bouncing in his seat. 

“This is fun,” he said cheerily. “Maybe, when you’re done with Lydia, and Boyd can play, we can have Deaton hide _one_ ribbon and you can time us and we can all try to get the ribbon first.”

“We can keep score for that one. We’ll have to tell Derek.”

He jumped to his feet and cheered when Erica ran through the trees first, a wild look in her eye, and slammed her ribbon down. 

“Two minutes, forty seconds!” Stiles exclaimed. 

Derek showed up seconds later, swearing when he saw Erica. “Good job,” he said grudgingly.

“Very nice. Derek, Isaac has an idea for another game. Talk about it while I go meet Lydia.” 

“Okay.”

Erica went with Stiles to the line, running her hands through her hair to put it back into order. She still looked smug from her victory. 

“Good job,” Stiles said, smiling at her.

“Thanks. I hauled _ass_.” 

“Yes, you did.”

“What’s Lydia bringing?”

“An egg and a feather for Derek to try.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does he have to do with them?”

“Bathe,” Stiles said, snickering.

“Really?” She looked disgusted. “How will that work?”

Stiles smiled. “He only needs the white from the egg, so I can make bubble bath.”

“You’re going to make Derek take a _bubble bath?_ ” She looked gleeful.

“Who doesn’t like a bubble bath?” Stiles demanded. “It could break the curse _and_ it’ll be relaxing for him.” 

“I don’t know. Derek just doesn’t seem like he’d enjoy a bubble bath.”

“Well, he’s going to have to deal with it, whether he likes it or not. Hey, Lydia!” he called when they were close enough to the line.

She, like John, was standing a safe distance from the line and looked tired. “Hey. Here’s the egg and feather. You have the wildflower honey, right?”

“Yep.” He furrowed his brows. “How’re we going to pass the egg over?” 

“I thought I’d roll it over, but I don’t want to get pushed.” She scowled and glanced at Erica. “If I toss it to you, can you catch it without breaking it?”

“Yes. But you’ll have to get a couple steps closer.”

“Fine.” She stepped closer and mimed tossing the egg. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Stiles closed his eyes for the toss. It was too stressful and if he flinched, Lydia would get annoyed and Erica would tease him. 

“Got it.” Erica held up the egg…and the tail feather.

“Thank you, Lydia. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Good. You should let Scott know, too. He’s got all the contacts with animals.”

“Will do.” 

Erica carried the egg back, because she was less likely to trip and crush it.

Boyd, Isaac, and Derek were in the front yard, laying in the grass, and Deaton was on the porch, reading.

“So, I have this stuff to try.” He smiled winningly.

Derek heaved a sigh. “Alright.”

“You can wait out here while I get it ready,” Stiles suggested. 

“Okay.”

“Can I help?” Boyd asked, rolling to his feet. 

“Sure.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s easy.” He took the egg from Erica, thanking her for carrying it, and went into the house. 

“Okay, get a measuring cup. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” 

Boyd nodded and headed toward the dining room. 

Stiles grabbed the body wash Scott had brought him from the rack in the bathroom and went to the kitchen.

Boyd had a big plastic measuring cup, along with a stack of measuring spoons. “I didn’t know which ones we needed.”

“We need some of the spoons, too, yeah.” Stiles set the body wash on the counter. “Pour half a cup of that into the big cup, okay?”

“Sure.”

Stiles got the honey from the cabinet and measured out a tablespoon.

“So this is going to be bubble bath?” Boyd asked doubtfully, watching Stiles stir in the honey. 

“Yes—and how did you know that?”

“I heard you and Erica talking,” he said easily. “This is cool.”

“Just need its egg white.” Stiles cracked the egg gingerly, so he could put the egg white into the mix.

“What do you do with the yolk?”

“Um, toss it, usually.”

“Can I cook it with some other eggs?”

Stiles laughed. “Sure.” He held out the part of the shell with the yolk in it and went to mixing the egg white in with the honey and soap.

He tapped the spoon against the edge of the cup and put it in the sink. He set the feather on top of the mixture before taking the cup to the front door.

“Derek, come try this!” he called.

Derek came in slowly, eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

“For your bath,” Stiles said sagely. “You can just add it to the water while it’s filling up, but you’ll have to soak for about an hour.”

“An _hour?_ ”

“Yep.” Stiles grinned. “I suggest taking a book with you.”

He glowered at the cup. “I’m gonna use my bathroom,” he muttered. “Upstairs.”

“Okay. Here.” 

“Can you pick a book for me? Boyd can bring it up.” 

“Sure. Go get started!” 

“Okay,” he sighed.

Stiles surveyed the library. There were blankets and pillows strewn across the floor, and piles of discarded books throughout the room; fingerprints marred the windows and the once-gleaming wooden bookshelves.

They really needed to clean up. Stiles scooped up a pile of books and began putting them back on their proper shelves, figuring it was five books _less_ for them to put away later.

At the bottom of the stack was the _Faery Tales_ book. Stiles huffed and put it on the shelf labeled _Children’s._

He picked out a historical romance novel for Derek, snickering to himself, and took it out to Boyd.

“Can you take that up to Derek?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at the cover and bumped his shoulder against Stiles’s. “Jokes on you, Derek likes these.” He left his plate of scrambled eggs on the table.

Stiles checked the time and hummed. He didn’t want to just sit, waiting to hear what was probably going to be bad news, and it was too early to start on dinner. 

Now that he was looking, he realized the house was starting to look a little messy. 

The dinner table had finger smudges and crumbs, and from where he was standing, he could tell the foyer needed to be swept at least. The kitchen, well, he never claimed to be a _neat_ cook, so despite the lack of dirty dishes, there were plenty of things that needed cleaning in _there._

He went to the laundry room and located an enormous bucket full of cleaning supplies on the rack above the washer. There were multiple bottles of the same kinds of cleaner, so Stiles assumed cleaning the Hale home was a family job. They were all mostly full, too, which was understandable. If the betas had mostly been outside like wolves, what did they need wood polish for?

The Swiffer duster was a pleasant surprise.

“Where’d you go, Stiles?” Erica called.

“I’m coming! Get Isaac in here.” He felt weird ordering Deaton around, so he figured he’d just let him decide whether he should help or not. “Do you know where the vacuum is?” he asked as he passed through the kitchen.

“Yes!” Isaac replied. “It’s with the broom and dust pan.” 

“Can you get them both for me?” he asked, setting the _heavy_ cleaning bucket on the table.

“Yep.” Isaac darted around Erica and ran down the hall.

Boyd came back down, grinning. “Derek’s up to his chin in bubbles, it’s great.”

“Finish your eggs, okay? We need the table in a minute.”

“Ooh, what’re we playing?” Erica asked, leaning against a chair.

“We’re playing ‘The House is a Mess and it’s not Acceptable’,” Stiles said dryly. “Get in line, we can choose rooms.”

“I’ll clean the dining room,” Deaton said easily. “It’s only fair, as I never help with the cooking.”

“Alright. Grab a rag from the kitchen. I’ll leave the wood cleaner on the table. Isaac, just put the broom on the wall over there, Deaton will need it. Next?”

Erica crossed her arms, looking annoyed. She huffed. “I’ll do the living room,” she muttered. 

“Good! You’ll need the duster, some window cleaner, and the vacuum.” He narrowed his eyes. “I saw what happened after you guys had popcorn.”

She sighed, as if she was being incredibly put upon, and held out her hands for her supplies.

“What’s left?” Isaac asked warily.

“Kitchen, library, and the halls and foyer area.” 

“Halls!” Boyd said instantly, grinning when Isaac scowled. 

“Okay. You’ll need a duster and wood cleaner, and the vacuum.” 

“Cool. I’ll go put my plate away.” He walked away cheerfully. 

“Which is it gonna be?” Stiles asked, smiling sympathetically at Isaac.

“I’ll take the library.”

He nodded and handed Isaac the cleaning supplies he’d need. “That leaves me with the kitchen. My karma for being messy when I cook,” he mused. “Alright, let’s get to work.” 

 

Stiles cleaned the stove and countertops first, followed by the oven and top of the fridge. He did the dishes and cleaned the sink, thoroughly, before sweeping the floor so he could mop it. 

He sang under his breath as he worked, wondering how they’d managed to make such a mess in so little time.

“Are you done yet?” Erica whined. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the dining room, watching him mop with her shirt pulled up over her nose to block the scent of bleach. 

“Almost. You cleaned the _whole_ living room?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “The windows, the rug, everything?”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” she sneered. “Everything.” 

He used his shirt to wipe his face. “Check on Isaac for me, please. I’m almost done in here.” 

She sighed and got to her feet. “Fine.” 

She’d only been gone for about three seconds when Derek said, “Do you need help?” and startled Stiles so badly that he almost slipped and brained himself on a counter.

“Jeeze! No, I’m good,” he gasped. “So it didn’t work,” he said, once he’d taken a look at Derek’s face. “Damn.” 

“Yeah.” He looked into the room beyond Stiles. “Why?” he asked simply. 

“I didn’t want to hover while you soaked, so I gave myself something to do.” He grinned. “And everyone else.”

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome. We should check on Boyd and Isaac’s progress.” 

The foyer had been swept and dusted admirably, the hall table and frames were gleaming, and Boyd was found sleeping on his stomach in the living room.

They tiptoed past to the library and found Isaac by himself, wiping down the last window. He turned when they came in.

“Where’d Erica go?” Stiles asked, frowning.

Isaac bit his lip, glanced at Derek, then shrugged and went back to cleaning the window.

Stiles sighed. “Well, when you’re done, go clean up. I’m gonna take a shower and get started on dinner. _Carefully._ I can’t believe how much I had to clean in there.”

Derek snorted. “While you shower, we’re going to open the windows. The cleaner is burning my nose.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Stiles winced.

“You didn’t know.”

 

Stiles texted Lydia and Scott with the bad news once he was alone in the bathroom. He showered all the sweat off as quickly as he could—he felt grimy and sticky. While shampooing his hair, he thought about Isaac’s awkward shrug when he’d asked about Erica. Obviously she’d gone to the basement. They all knew that, just as they knew Derek didn’t want Stiles down there. They also had to know it was driving Stiles crazy. Why couldn’t they just _tell_ him why he wasn’t allowed down there?

He felt he was less likely to try to sneak down there if they just _told him what it was._

Was it dangerous? Maybe the stairs had collapsed and it was only safe for a werewolf. 

No, that didn’t make any sense, Deaton was always going down there.

Maybe they were making drugs. But why would they do that? Would the drugs even affect them? They were werewolves. And it wasn’t like they could _sell_ the drugs.

So probably not drugs.

Maybe Derek was a photographer and the basement was his dark room. Maybe he’d been taking creepy, stalker-type photos and didn’t want Stiles to see. 

A knock on the door jerked him out of his thoughts. He stepped out from under the spray. “Yeah?” he called, blinking water out of his eyes.

“We’re making Sloppy Joes and green beans!” Isaac called.

“Um, okay! Try not to make a mess!” 

Sloppy Joes weren’t exactly what Stiles had planned on cooking when he’d suggested making dinner. He hoped they would keep it all in the pot. 

By the time he was dried off and dressed, the food was almost done and Boyd was awake. He and Deaton were in the dining room. 

“Thanks for cleaning up,” Stiles said, offering them both a smile.

Boyd grinned back. “It was fun, Erica was swearing the whole time and made a song out of the words.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “She lives here too!” he said, hopefully loud enough for her to hear. 

Erica emerged for dinner, ignoring Stiles’s leading, unsubtle questions, just like the rest of the table. 

They seemed to have decided feigning deafness was the only safe way to keep Stiles in the dark.

Stiles was close to teaching them that there was no safe way to keep Stiles in the dark. Stiles in the dark was not a safe Stiles.

“Thanks for cooking, guys,” he said, deciding to drop it for the night.

“You’re welcome.” Isaac seemed relieved. “After the dishes are done, does anyone want to play Clue?”

Erica groaned loudly. “Not again.”

He scowled at her. “What would you rather play?” 

“Battleship!”

“That’s a two player game! What’re the rest of us supposed to do?”

“How about charades?” Boyd suggested. He put a forkful of green beans in his mouth before anyone could say anything.

“We could play charades,” Stiles said slowly.

“Sure,” Derek agreed.

“I’ll pass,” Deaton said.

“Oh, you can be the ref if you’re too dignified to play,” Stiles teased.

“Why charades?” Isaac asked, nose twitching.

“It’ll be fun,” Stiles coaxed. “You’ll like it.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Erica?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

 

Derek and Stiles sucked so badly at charades that they were put on a team together, so they couldn’t sabotage the others. Stiles was insulted, but he couldn’t protest, because he had _no idea what Derek was doing._

“So, so, it’s—it’s a movie, right?”

Derek nodded, eyes rounding. He did his…skit…thing again, where he searched for something, and then apparently found it. 

“Um, ah…I— _Saving Private Ryan._ ” Stiles guessed, completely thrown by the wild look Derek shot him. 

The timer went off. 

“ _Finding Nemo_ ,” Derek sighed.

“ _What?_ ” 

“Our turn!” Erica chirped before Stiles could demand to know how what Derek had done was anything related to the adorable fish movie. She picked up a folded slip of paper from her basket. She smiled wickedly and refolded it, setting it in the used pile. She mimed an old fashioned video camera.

“A movie,” Boyd said. He was unfairly relaxed, even though Deaton had set the rather loud kitchen timer again.

Erica nodded and flipped her hand in a gesture Stiles knew immediately.

He’d written that movie down. Damn it. Derek was right. It was too easy.

“Spiderman!” Isaac said loudly. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Erica hissed triumphantly.

Deaton marked down their time.

Stiles scowled and took his card. He sighed and refolded it, setting it on the discard pile.

He opened his hands in front of his chest, like he was holding something.

“Book,” Derek said. He was leaning forward, sitting at the very edge of the couch.

Stiles held up four fingers.

“Four words,” he said, his voice tense with excitement.

 _God, he’s cute,_ Stiles thought, momentarily distracted. He shook himself and crouched, one hand cupped and resting on his knee, the other signing numbers between his knees.

“Catcher? Catching? _Catcher in the Rye?_ ” Derek shouted, practically leaping to his feet in excitement.

“Yes! We got a point!” Stiles cheered.

“You still lost,” Erica pointed out. “By like eight points.”

Stiles made a face at her. “Yes, but we finally got one and for us, that one means more than your…whatever.” 

“Yeah, whatever, you still lost. Go get us our winner’s cake!” 

Stiles rolled his eyes but, having agreed to the prize (winners got the last of the cake, losers served it to them), he got up and held his hand out to pull Derek up.

His claws skimmed very lightly over the back of Stiles’s hand. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his hand quickly.

“I barely even felt that,” Stiles scoffed. “Let’s go get them their cake.”

They may or may not have stolen a forkful each before taking the pan to the betas, but they would deny it to the end.

Deaton got a piece of cake for being scorekeeper. 

“That’s fine. Enjoy your cake. We’re getting our loser’s ice cream,” Stiles claimed, turning on his heel to leave the room again.

Derek, laughing, followed him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm having so much fun writing the sequel now! X) Please enjoy!

Stiles passed one bowl of popcorn to Boyd, and the other two Isaac. They were huge bowls and fit two bags of popcorn each, so Stiles hoped they would last through the whole movie.

It had been a rough day of trying rather unpleasant ways to break the curse, so Stiles had suggested an evening spent inside, watching a movie and relaxing, and the pack had readily agreed.

Isaac had emerged from the basement with Deaton just as Stiles finished the last of the popcorn.

Stiles refrained from asking through sheer will power; it felt like chewing off his tongue, but the day had already been long and upsetting. No reason to make it worse.

“Zombies? _Really?_ ” Erica demanded, disgusted.

“It’s a good movie!” Derek snapped.

“What movie?”

“Derek wants to watch _Resident Evil_ ,” Isaac said with a sigh.

“I like that one,” Stiles said slowly. “We can vote?”

“My vote counts twice!” Derek said.

Stiles shot him a warning look, which he pretended not to see. “So _three_ for _Resident Evil_?”

Boyd held up his hand. “Four.”

“Okay. Isaac?”

He sighed. “No, but you guys already won.”

Stiles frowned. “You, Deaton, and Erica can pick the next movie, okay?” 

“ _Jurassic Park_!” Erica said, waving the DVD above her head.

Deaton shook his head and settled into the recliner.

“ _Catch and Release_?”

Erica threw popcorn at Isaac, making him squawk indignantly.

“Okay, what about _Premonition_?” he demanded.

Erica’s face cleared. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good. Derek, go ahead and start the movie, and everyone else settle in.” 

Boyd and Erica sprawled on the floor, and Isaac sat on the far right of the couch. He looked at Stiles hopefully, so he flopped into the middle seat.

“You can hold the popcorn,” Isaac said smugly. 

“Oh, thanks a lot,” Stiles huffed. He put a handful of popcorn in his mouth and settled the bowl in his lap.

The movie started and Derek got on the free spot on the couch, drawing his legs up and crossing them, pressing his right knee against Stiles’s left thigh.

“Popcorn?” Stiles tipped the bowl toward him.

He smiled and took a handful.

“Can we turn off the lights?” Erica demanded. “What’s the point in watching a horror movie with all the lights on?”

“Yes,” Derek said, shooting her a scowl. 

“Skip the previews,” Boyd said once the lights were off.

Derek sighed heavily and lifted the remote, holding a button until they hit the root menu.

Stiles shifted around in his seat a little, leaning back when Isaac reached for the popcorn.

The beginning of the movie always bothered him. He’d gotten so used to watching it with Scott, who was totally okay skipping the beginning, that he’d forgotten about it.

The zombies didn’t freak him out as much as the prone bodies strewn around before they became zombies. 

Stupid to forget that sort of thing. 

He focused on the popcorn in his lap and digging his toes into the deep rug to ground himself while scientists started screaming and dying on screen.

He jumped a little when Isaac leaned against his side, then snorted at himself. He kept his gaze down and distracted until after the woman floating in the flooded room. After that, he started paying attention. He realized he was gripping Isaac’s wrist so tightly his nails had dug into skin. 

“Sorry,” he breathed; Isaac only shook his head.

Considering how many times Stiles had seen the movie, it was no surprise to him when he realized he’d fallen asleep. 

It was a surprise to find himself stretched out on the couch, his legs tossed over Isaac’s lap, his head pillowed on Derek’s thigh.

They seemed to be asleep, too, and Deaton was gone.

Erica and Boyd had both bowls of popcorn while Dr. Grant and the two kids scaled down the wall to escape the T-Rex on screen. 

Stiles yawned and turned his face slightly; Derek let out a soft snort and dropped a hand on the back of Stiles’s head, fingers scratching gently before settling. Stiles closed his eyes and fell back to sleep. 

 

He woke when Derek moved. He was too groggy to understand, so he just shifted until he got comfortable again. He watched through slitted eyes as Derek picked his way across the room, grabbing a blanket to drape over Erica and Boyd. He crossed the room and left. 

Stiles frowned. Sunlight was creeping through the space in the drawn shades, but it was weak dawn light. Where was Derek going so early?

Stiles slid his gaze to Isaac, who remained sleeping, curled up in a ball in his corner of the couch. He rolled off, careful to avoid Boyd and Erica. 

The recliner was empty, meaning Deaton had gone at some point, too.

Stiles tiptoed to the bathroom, but, when he heard voices, he hesitated. He chewed on his bottom lip before turning the light and fan on and creeping toward the dining room, where he’d heard them talking.

Deaton and Derek were just passing through, going down to the basement. 

Stiles sighed and turned back to the bathroom.

After, he returned to the living room with blankets for himself and Isaac. He put his head down on Derek’s side of the couch, but he knew he wasn’t going to fall back to sleep. That damn basement was picking at his nerves like a persistent bird. 

During breakfast, Boyd went to the basement. Stiles stepped away from the table to call Scott. 

“Hey, good morning.”

“Morning,” Scott said cheerfully. “What do you want to try today?”

“Goose feathers.”

“Can I get them from the park?” Scott asked, amused.

Stiles grimaced. “Actually, I need two hand-plucked feathers from a goose, some twine, and a red apple.” 

“Ohhh.” Scott sighed. “The goose won’t be happy.”

Stiles snorted. “Animals love you, dude.”

“Not when I pull off their feathers!” 

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Stiles rubbed his temple. He was starting to get a headache.

“No, it’s okay. I can do it. I’ll bring it some food to trade.”

“Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

“I know. I’ll call when I’ve got the stuff,” he said cheerily before he hung up.

Stiles went back to the table and found Derek looking wary.

“Goose feathers?”

Stiles’s jaw clenched, trying to keep himself from snapping at him. “Yes,” he said in a measured tone. “But you don’t have to put them on you or ingest them in any way.”

“Oh. Okay.” He looked confused by Stiles’s tone, or possibly his tense posture as he took his seat again.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac asked.

Stiles managed to unlock his jaw. “Oh, nothing.” His voice was forcefully pleasant. “It just seems like everyone else has secrets to keep here, but I can’t have a simple fucking phone call without being eavesdropped on.” 

Erica and Isaac stopped eating, both sinking in their chairs, which made Stiles feel guilty.

He swallowed and said, “It’s getting frustrating. I’m irritated. Please don’t listen to my phone calls. I can go further away if that will help.”

Derek nodded once, slowly.

“Thanks.”

He left the house without a word when Scott called to tell him he had the feathers, twine, and apple.

“Thank you. I’m heading to the line right now.”

“Oh, okay. You know it’ll be about ten minutes before I get here, right?”

“Yeah, I just need some air.”

“Is everything okay?” Scott asked worriedly.

“Yes.” Stiles sighed. “I just—I’m frustrated that nothing is working.”

“Well, maybe this will! You just have to keep trying. You always figure it out in the end.” 

Stiles sighed again. “You have more faith in me than I do right now.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he said cheerfully. “I’m getting in the car, bye!” 

Stiles walked slowly, with his hands shoved in his pockets, and contemplated his morning. There was a chance he’d overreacted. It wasn’t Derek’s fault Stiles had only walked a couple rooms away in a houseful of werewolves.

It _was_ Derek’s fault that Stiles was burning up with curiosity every time he or one of the betas stole away to the basement.

He shouldn’t have gotten mad, though. It was Derek’s house. He’d been generously allowing Stiles—someone who had technically trespassed onto his property—to live in his house. 

Stiles blew out a noisy breath, digging his hands into his hair and walking a little faster. How was he supposed to break the curse, when his concentration was at least half focused on the basement?

He shook himself. He was being stupid. He was twenty-fucking-years-old, not a nosy teenager. There was no reason he couldn’t ignore his curiosity in favor of breaking the curse and getting out of here—back to his life, his father, his friends. 

At that thought, he pulled out his phone and texted his father to check in.

John was alright—the remembrance spells were working, and Stiles was going to buy Lexa the biggest bouquet of whatever flowers she wanted when he was out of here.

“Hey!” Scott called. His hair was standing up and he had a grass stain on his knee. “The goose gave the feathers, but the other geese chased me.”

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry, man.”

“No problem.” He held up a brown paper bag. “The apple is in here, too, and the twine. Lydia said that you’re reaching.” He looked confused. “But I don’t know what she meant.”

“She meant she doesn’t think this will work because it doesn’t go on the Cursed.” Stiles sighed. “It probably won’t, but if I don’t try it, it’ll haunt me.” 

“Right. Well, here you go. Good luck!”

“Thanks. I hope it works. I’m ready to come home.”

Scott’s face creased. “I know, dude, it really sucks that you’re stuck, but you’ll find a way to break it.”

“I know.” He managed a smile for Scott’s benefit.

“Anyway, I have to get back. Lydia’s got me helping her research in the mornings.” 

“Thanks, man.”

Scott beamed at him. “No problem. Bye!”

Stiles waved morosely, clenching his hand around the paper bag. Now he had to go _back_ to the house to deal with the pack.

Hopefully they’d be willing to pretend that scene at breakfast hadn’t happened and they could all just move on. 

When he got back to the house and heard shouting from the bottom of the front steps, he figured he deserved to get caught up in it and marched on.

“—just a _jerk!_ ” Erica shouted.

“I said _no!_ ” Derek roared back.

Stiles backed up hastily when Erica stormed through the foyer, but instead of shouting at him, too, she fell into his arms and started crying, shocking him. 

“What the hell happened?”

“We thought you weren’t coming back and we asked Derek to-” she choked off as if she physically couldn’t continue. She let out a furious howl, squeezed Stiles, and ran off—to her room, probably. 

Isaac crept toward him next, his eyes red rimmed and wide.

Stiles lifted one arm self-consciously. 

Isaac hurried to his side, burrowing in for a quick hug. 

“’m going with Erica,” he mumbled, and took off.

Stiles swallowed and carefully went into the dining room. 

Derek was standing beside the table, claws dug into the back of a chair while he glared fiercely toward the floor. 

Stiles cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t yell at the kids, dear, they’re just trying to help,” he joked lamely.

Derek’s gaze snapped up at him. “They weren’t being helpful.” He cleared his throat, too. “We all thought you were going to…that you’d decided to leave the house.”

Stiles lifted his brows. “What good would that do? I’d still be stuck on the property.” He held up a hand. “I was frustrated and I needed some air. I met Scott at the line and got some stuff to try. Okay?”

Derek nodded meekly. 

“This one should be easy. You just have to cut the apple in half—come on, in the kitchen. You have to be the one to do it.” 

Derek followed him to the kitchen and waited silently by the counter while Stiles got down a cutting board and a knife.

“Do you make the betas cry often?” he asked carefully.

“That was a first,” Derek mumbled. “I didn’t mean to make them cry.”

Stiles jerked his shoulders. “Part of it was probably my fault, too.” He set the apple, twine, and goose feathers—nice, long ones, good job, Scott—on the counter in a neat line. “Okay, so try to cut as neatly down the middle as you can, and then we’ll tie the goose feathers to it.”

“Okay.”

“And take the seeds out as best you can.” He leaned back to give Derek some space, picking at his middle fingernail.

“Is that good?” he asked, using his pinky claw to pop out some seeds. 

“Yep. Okay, now you’ll want to tie one feather on top and one on the cut side. You can just keep looping the twine around until you feel it’s ready.”

What they ended up with was a ball of mostly twine, but the edges of a feather could be seen between the strings, as well as a peek of red occasionally. 

“Good! Now we need to bury it.” 

Derek stared at him. “Where?”

“Somewhere significant to the curse. So…maybe where you got cursed? Or where the curse first took effect?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. I know of somewhere.” He hesitated, then asked, “Come with me?”

“Sure.” Stiles was puzzled by Derek’s weird tone, but he followed him out anyway. 

They went around the back of the house and off to the side that Stiles hadn’t ventured to before—the vegetable garden Deaton had spoken of was on this side, well-tended but clearly not by a skilled hand.

They passed by a garage, with a driveway beneath a stone wall built into the land that Stiles hadn’t noticed before—it looked like a hill from the other side. There were car pieces—plastic bits, glass, a side mirror—scattered all over the driveway. 

“What happened there?” Stiles asked, frowning. 

Derek glanced back at him. “We wanted to see if vehicles could get over the line,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

They bypassed the driveway in favor of heading into the trees. Stiles had to walk quickly to keep up with Derek, who seemed to be moving with grim purpose, long, powerful strides that Stiles could barely match.

“Where are we going?” he asked, jogging a little so he could catch up and walk beside him.

“Where I was cursed,” he mumbled.

“Oh. Good plan.” Stiles cleared his throat. He’d been doing that so much that it had become an awkward habit and now he couldn’t stop.

The trees were thick, so it was hard to see, and Stiles stumbled, his toes catching the deep tire grooves dug into the dirt. He stepped around them carefully, ending up behind Derek again.

It was only about three minutes later when Derek came to a complete and sudden stop. Of course, it took Stiles a moment to catch up, but when he did, he couldn’t help staring, jaw dropped. 

The trees were blackened and dead in this area and the dry ground was cracked. The property line was visible, too, but it was wider than the rest of the line, like it had started and ended there. 

“Is this…” Stiles trailed off, creeping up beside Derek to see his face. “My god. Who the hell cursed you? Who has this much power?” He found himself asking that a lot about this particular curse.

Derek shook his head. “So I just bury this?”

“Yeah. Make sure it’s at least six inches deep. Ah, I didn’t grab anything to dig with. Sorry.” 

Derek shrugged. “S’okay. I’ll just use my hands.”

Stiles started to suggest that he help, but Derek looked on edge and sort of dangerous, so Stiles kept his distance. 

Derek dug with his claws, tearing at the dirt like he was angry. 

Stiles put his hands in his pockets and craned his neck to look around. The trees really freaked him out. He wanted to know how one sorceress and one curse could do this, and why she’d been angry enough to do it.

This didn’t even seem like anger, he reflected. More like hatred. 

Who could hate that shy, awkward werewolf enough for _this?_

“Done,” Derek said. His voice sounded even more guttural than usual. His hands were smeared with dirt and blood, but Stiles couldn’t see any cuts. “Now what?”

“Now we leave it burned overnight.”

“Okay.” When he stood up, his eyes looked sort of distant and blank.

“Well, let’s go back now. You, uh, are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replied robotically.

Stiles frowned. “If you say so. Come on. Let’s go back.”

When Derek didn’t move, Stiles held his hand out. Derek stared at it for a moment.

Then, carefully, he put his hand in Stiles’s. His palm was cool and a little clammy.

Stiles led the way back, keeping Derek’s hand tight in his.

Derek followed along obediently, only struggling when Stiles started to veer off course. 

“Okay,” Stiles said with forced cheer. “I can see the house. When we get in, do you want something to eat?” He glanced back.

Derek shook his head, but his hand flexed around Stiles’s.

They went up the porch steps together, and in through the door.

Stiles stopped in the foyer, loosening his grip slightly in his uncertainty.

Derek shook his head and tightened his grip, tugging gently until Stiles followed him. 

They went past the library and across the hall to a staircase; Stiles planted his feet and nearly got yanked off them for his effort.

Derek blinked back at him. 

“You said you didn’t want me to go up there,” he said. He was slightly ashamed to admit, to himself anyway, that if Derek had been leading him down to the basement, he wouldn’t have said anything to stop him. 

“Because I didn't want you to see me,” Derek explained dully. “My bedroom is up there.”

“Oh.” Stiles furrowed his brows and allowed himself to be tugged up the stairs. 

There were bedrooms downstairs other than the guest room Stiles was staying in, but not quite as many as upstairs. 

Still, there weren’t enough for all of the people who’d lived in the Hale house; some of the kids must have shared. There were more picture frames on the walls, too, all along the hallway, between doors and near the windows.

Derek went to the third door on the left and let go of Stiles’s hand to twist the knob. 

Derek’s room was sparse—Stiles could see lighter places on the wall where pictures had been, but the walls themselves were bare. He had a bookcase with an assortment of books, stones, and trophies on the shelves. The closet, which hung open, was empty, but Stiles spotted clothes in a pile under the window.

“They’re too small for me,” Derek mumbled, following his gaze.

“I see.”

Derek stepped in, sitting at the edge of his bed. He stared at Stiles until he came in, too, and perched on the desk chair.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“That was where we used to meet,” Derek said quietly. “And where she cursed me.”

“Why did you guys meet in the woods?”

Derek’s gaze dropped. “She was twenty-six,” he muttered. “We couldn’t let my parents know.”

Stiles grimaced. “What was her name?”

Derek shook his head.

“That’s okay, too.” Stiles rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to pretend he wasn’t horrified. A twenty-six-year-old had no reason to be “meeting” a sixteen-year-old kid in the woods and telling him to hide it from his parents. “Did she say anything when she cursed you?” he asked gently.

“Um, yeah. She kind of laughed and told me good luck.” Derek picked at his overlong jeans nervously. “She had a book with her,” he said, straightening up suddenly. “I don’t remember what it was, but she had to look at it for reference when doing the curse.” 

“Huh. That’s new.”

“Yeah.”

“Did any of your family find out…?”

Derek nodded. “They didn’t know about her until she tried to burn the house down. My mom stopped her and she disappeared, but she came back two nights later and…” He closed his eyes. “She said she wanted to talk to me so I _went_. Like an idiot.” 

“How could you know?” Stiles demanded.

His eyes flew open. “She tried to kill my family!”

“Were you going because you thought she was a good person?” Stiles pressed. 

“No! I thought I could tell her to get the hell off our property or I’d kill _her_ but I got there and I couldn’t even get any words out, I never _could_ when I was around her and then she cursed me.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “What happened to you physically after she cursed you? Like, immediately after.”

Derek jerked his shoulders. “My face did this and everything hurt for a second—mostly my chest. Um. This.” He pulled the collar of his shirt down, enough that Stiles could see the brown mark he’d thought was a scar. 

Now that he could see it clearly, it looked like three deep, tapering claw marks, jagged over his heart. 

“That appeared, um, right after she cursed me.”

“Is it raised?” Stiles asked. “Like, does it feel different from the rest of your skin?”

“Yes. It’s raised a little, and it feels hot.” He hesitated. “You can touch it if you want.” 

Stiles gamely swallowed juvenile laughter and nodded, crossing the room. “You sure?” he asked, because Derek _was_ shy and he didn’t want to upset him.

“Yes.”

Stiles nodded and touched three fingertips to the marks. He was surprised to find that the skin was indeed quite a few degrees warmer than the rest of Derek’s skin. They were rough, too, and Stiles got the impression that they’d hurt going on. A lot.

“Jeeze,” he breathed. He couldn’t think of anything else to _say_ , except that he was sorry, but somehow he didn’t think that Derek wanted to hear that.

He thought of another person in Beacon Hills who had been cursed long term, but he barely knew anything about her.

A girl named Cira Villafuerte had lived with her curse since she was a baby, but Stiles didn’t know the details. He wondered if she had a mark like this, if marks were a symptom of long term curses. He should have paid more attention to the other long term curses. 

“Now what?” Derek asked, looking up at Stiles.

Since they were the same height when standing, it was odd to be taller than him, looking down. He was a big guy, muscular and broad, and generally seemed to loom over everyone, despite not being that much taller. Stiles took a weird-sounding breath, backing away awkwardly.

“So, um, now we, um, go make something to eat, probably.” He looked down at Derek’s hands. “And get cleaned up.”

“Right.” He looked at his hands, too.

“I can meet you down in the kitchen.” He backed out of the room; Derek followed him.

“What do you want to make for lunch?”

“Um, I don’t know. We’ll decide while we’re in the kitchen.” 

Downstairs, the betas were still in hiding, and Deaton was sitting at the table drinking a cup of milk. He nodded at the book in the center of the table.

“Is that yours?”

Stiles frowned and leaned forward, using his fingertip to turn it. He sighed. “No, one of the betas keeps leaving this everywhere.” 

Deaton lifted his brows. “Really? I’ve never seen them reading it.”

“Maybe they want me to read it to them,” Stiles joked. “Whatever, I’ll put it away later.” He took it with him to the kitchen, though, leaning a hip against the counter and flipping it open. He read the first story, Cinderella, while he waited for Derek.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am so terrible at pacing, I'm trying to brace everyone. 
> 
> I've started on the sequel, which is set in October/autumn, but won't begin to be posted until well after, because NaNoWriMo. :D Please enjoy this in the meantime! 
> 
> This chapter was so fun. ^^ I hope you think so, too.  
>  **There is some blood in this chapter. Not nearly as much as in Gods and Monsters though.**

The apple and feathers didn’t work. They had done something amazing, though.

“This place was dead,” Stiles said in awe, turning a slow circle. “Everything was dead. The trees and grass and—I didn’t imagine that, did I?” He was standing beneath a big, healthy tree, ankle deep in brilliant green grass, gawking like an idiot. 

“No, that’s how it was.” Derek was gaping, too, taking slow steps around the area. He braced a hand against a tree, drawing his fingers down the bark as if he needed to feel it to make sure it was real. “When she cursed me, it all…died.” He swallowed with a click. “But it didn’t work.” He held his hands out in front of him. “I’m still stuck.”

“I know. I think it was a reaction to the cleansing properties of that particular spell,” Stiles said carefully. Disappointment and frustration tangled up in his chest, making his hands clench. 

When they’d first discovered the healed clearing, they’d been sure it meant the curse was broken. But the property line remained, and Derek was still stuck half-shifted. They were _all_ still stuck.

“I guess we should go back to the house,” he muttered. “We can have some lunch and just…” He rubbed his face. “Think of other stuff to try.”

Derek nodded and looked around the clearing one last time before leading the way out.

Erica helped Stiles with lunch—sliced up watermelons and grilled sandwiches—when they returned. Isaac and Derek went outside to play catch while Boyd and Deaton went to the basement.

Stiles tried to pretend it didn’t bother him.

But he’d worked out their schedule.

Derek went in the morning, Boyd went around noon, Erica went just after or before dinner, possibly during, and Isaac went later in the evening. The exact times varied but the order did not.

Deaton accompanied them every time.

“Okay, who keeps leaving this book _everywhere?_ ” he demanded, spotting the _Faery Tales_ book on the counter beside the sink. “I’ve put it away about fifteen times!”

Erica shook her head. “We haven’t. We thought you were reading it, you know, to get your mind off things.” She shrugged and flipped a sandwich over. 

Stiles frowned at the book. “Do you think Derek’s getting it out?”

“No,” she snorted. “He hates faery tales. Every time he notices it, he gets irritated.” 

“Well, then I don’t know who’s leaving it out. It’s not Deaton.” He sighed and opened the book. “Have you read any of these?” 

“Nope. I like fantasy and adventure,” she said thoughtfully. “I admit. But faery tales seem boring. All about learning lessons and virtues and…stuff,” she said with a wrinkled nose. “Unless it’s the Disney version. I can handle the cartoons.” She took a piece of watermelon and picked the seeds out.

“I might read more of these later tonight.” He looked at the book cover, tracing the letters.

“You could read to us,” she suggested while plating the last of the sandwiches. 

“I’m not good at reading out loud. I go too quickly.”

She pouted at him. “How else will we know the story of Cinderella?”

“You know the story. Everyone knows the story.”

She batted her lashes. “Are you sure? Weren’t there dwarves involved?” 

“You’re ridiculous.” He sighed. “What, are you four? What twenty-year-old wants to be read to?”

“I’m twenty-two, and I do. _Please?_ ” 

“Fine! But only if Boyd and Isaac also want to hear it.” He smirked, because surely the guys would want to play a game or watch a movie instead.

“Let’s take this outside.”

Stiles carried the container of watermelon, since it was sealed and had less of a chance of getting ruined if he tripped. Which he did. Right down the porch steps. 

“Ow.” He wobbled to his feet and frowned at his skinned knees. 

“Are you okay? Do you need band aids?” Isaac asked. He was flushed from running around in the heat, though he wasn’t to the point of sweating yet.

“No, it’s not so bad. The grass cushioned my fall a little. Could you take this, though?”

Isaac grabbed the watermelon almost before Stiles finished speaking. “Your left knee is bleeding.”

“Only a little. Come on, let’s go eat.” 

Derek was frowning when they rounded the side of the house. “We have band aids,” he said. He was looking at Stiles’s legs.

“It’s going to stop in a second, it’s fine.” 

Erica set the tray of sandwiches down. “Stiles is going to read to us tonight, Isaac.”

“Really?” he asked excitedly. “What are you reading?”

“He’s going to read us a faery tale.”

“ _If_ Boyd wants me to as well,” Stiles interjected desperately.

Boyd was his last hope, apparently.

“A faery tale?” Derek asked dryly. “They’re not five.” 

“It was her idea!” he protested. “I didn’t want to read to them!”

Boyd came out then, and settled the matter by deciding that Stiles reading to them was the greatest thing he’d ever heard, too.

“I am running a daycare,” Stiles realized. 

“We just want to spend time with you,” Erica said, scowling.

“I am here all the time. Literally. There’s nowhere else for me _to_ spend time.”

Three sets of wide, pleading eyes turned to him, all sad and shiny.

“Ugh, whatever. Fine. After dinner, I’ll read you a story,” he muttered. 

Derek laughed and shook his head.

“Oh, what, like you’re not a pushover, too?” Stiles scoffed.

Erica gleefully jumped on Derek’s back, knocking him into the grass, while Boyd flopped onto Stiles’s legs.

They finished eating with gusto and spent twenty minutes cleaning up. Stiles sent Boyd and Isaac inside to do the dishes and to make sure Deaton got some food. Erica napped in the grass.

“They really are like children,” Stiles observed. 

Derek snorted. “Yeah. They weren’t in the beginning, though.”

“They _were_ children then,” he pointed out. “Or teenagers.”

“But they didn’t act like it.” He shrugged. “They’re all different now.”

“How so?”

“Well, Isaac’s happier now, lighter. And Erica is, too.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully. “So, did you just change them when they got here?”

“Only Isaac. He was injured and I thought the bite would save him.”

He frowned. “What kind of injured?”

Derek shook his head. “He was bleeding and panicking. It looked like someone beat him up, and maybe stabbed him. His chest was bleeding.”

“Oh. What about Erica and Boyd?”

“Erica was sick, I guess. And she didn’t have any medicine. Boyd didn’t want her to be alone, so he asked to be changed, too.” Derek picked at the grass between them.

“Oh. That was nice of you.”

He shrugged.

Stiles sighed. “Okay, no compliments for Derek, he doesn’t take them well. See, I’m learning.” 

Boyd and Isaac reemerged then; Boyd was fully shifted, tail wagging as he bolted across the yard and ducked down to lick Erica’s face.

Isaac laughed when Erica woke squawking and flailing.

Stiles glanced toward Derek and found him smiling at them, watching the three of them wrestle.

“We want to play tag,” Isaac announced. “We can be on teams. _Please?_ ” 

Stiles grunted. “It’s no fair, you guys are faster than me.”

“Yeah, but that’s why we’ll have teams. Boyd can be with you and Derek to make up for you being slow,” he said with a lightning quick grin. 

Stiles couldn’t help smiling back. “Fine, make fun of the human. We’ll see who’s slow when we win, right guys?”

Boyd snorted and wiggled free from Erica’s limpet-like grip. 

“Thanks for the confidence, bro.” 

He shook himself, tail thumping against Stiles’s shoulder. 

“I’m It first!” Erica announced. “You’ve got twenty seconds to run!”

Derek pulled Stiles to his feet and raced off into the trees. Boyd bumped Stiles’s legs from behind until he started running, too.

He heard Erica and Isaac start chasing them, shouting and laughing, less than a minute later. 

He was heaving for breath in minutes, gripping a tree trunk and hoping they decided to go after Derek or Boyd first.

Possibly working in the library hadn’t given him much of a reason to work on his cardio.

He wiped his forehead with his shirt, looking up and blinking at the leaves. 

Something slammed into him from behind, sent him sprawling in the dirt.

“Sorry!” Isaac crowed. “I thought you had a tighter grip on the tree. You’re with us now, until we tag the other two!” He pulled Stiles to his feet and winced, then brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes. “Sorry,” he said again, more sincerely. 

“S’okay. Where’s Erica?”

“Chasing Derek. He’s faster than us.” He shrugged. “So we all have to chase him together.” 

“Well, okay. Cool.” 

“Now we have to find Boyd.” Isaac looked thrilled.

While they were searching for Boyd, Stiles spotted some wolfsbane flowers clustered together. He hesitated next to them, frowning.

“What?” Isaac danced in place impatiently. 

“I was just thinking. Um, well, Derek’s not going to like it, but I wonder if wolfsbane and,” he cringed, “some of the pack’s fur burned into ash might work as a cure.” 

Isaac wrinkled his nose. “You think so?”

“I think it’s worth testing out.” 

“Can we finish tag first?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Stiles snorted. “We can finish tag first.”

 

Stiles got knocked down twice more before he declared himself ref and went to get the wolfsbane flowers and set up camp in the yard. He used his shirt to mop up his palms and knees while he waited for the game to finish.

Sometimes it was like they forgot they couldn’t play too rough with him. He wasn’t mad—touched, a bit, actually, because it made him feel like a part of the pack. 

Isaac must have told them his idea, because when they showed up, Erica and Isaac had joined Boyd in wolf form, gamboling toward him like excited Labradors. 

Derek came a little slower, looking apprehensive. “Fur and wolfsbane?” he asked.

“Yep. I figured that pieces of your pack and something significant to you would be worth a try.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he said after a long moment.

Stiles smiled a little. “You hate it.”

“Yes, but I hate being cursed more.”

“Well, good. That’s a good attitude.” He clapped his hands. “Come on, I need some fur from you guys. No whining,” he added sternly.

The three of them shuffled up to him and allowed him to pluck some fur from each of them, grumbling when he yanked them out.

“Okay, heathens, you’re free to do whatever while I fix this up.” He scooped up the flowers and marched back to the house. 

Derek followed, surprisingly, and perched on the free counter in the bathroom where Stiles set up shop. 

He watched Stiles cut up the flowers with interest.

“Will this hurt you?” Stiles asked, pausing.

“Not burned, it won’t.” He frowned. “Do I have to…ingest it?”

“No.” Stiles grimaced. He dropped the fur into the cut up flowers.

“Okay, then it should be fine.” 

He nodded and set the mixture on fire, wrinkling his nose at the scent of burning hair.

He tamped the flames down and let the ashes cool before holding it out to Derek. “Like a mask.”

He sighed and took it. “I’m starting to think this curse won’t ever break.”

“Don’t think that,” Stiles said sharply. “It can be broken and we’ll break it. We just have to keep trying. Losing hope is letting her win.”

“I know,” he muttered. “This is tingling.”

“Like it’s poisoning you, or like it’s working?” Stiles asked warily.

Derek shrugged. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t hurt, but I can’t shift back, either.” He spread more over his cheeks, over his flat nose, frowning with concentration.

The serious expression made Stiles smile.

“Nothing,” he said in defeat when he’d used all the ash.

“Damn.” Stiles held out a rag. “It was worth a try,” he said firmly. 

Derek nodded and bent over the sink.

While he was washing the ash off, Stiles checked his messages.

Lydia had texted. ‘ **There’s a book that suggests goat’s milk through bamboo could do it.** ’

Stiles scoffed. ‘ **How the hell could that help?** ’

‘ **At this point we’re trying anything. This one was used to break the Alverez curse in 1917. They were cursed with physical mutations. Could work.** ’

He sighed, defeated. ‘ **Yeah, it could. Thanks. Scott coming?** ’

‘ **Yes.** ’

“Well, we have something else to try,” he announced.

Derek groaned.

“How do you feel about goat milk?” he asked innocently.

 

It was John at the line instead of Scott, which stopped Stiles in his tracks, his heart giving a painful jolt.

“Dad,” he blurted, and bolted toward the line.

“Hey, kiddo.” He looked slightly confused, but he smiled. “Don’t freak out. Somethings are just mixed up.” He lifted a paper bag. “Scott told me you need this stuff.”

“Yeah, I—thanks. We’re trying to break it…you know.”

He nodded. “It’s a complicated curse.”

“I know. There are so many little aspects of it, so many fine background details that I have to keep track of and take into consideration when thinking of cures.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“If this doesn’t work, you should list all the details and make your way through each one. Could be you need to combine some things that you normally wouldn’t and haven’t realized it yet.” 

“That’s a…great idea, thank you.”

John smiled again. “No problem. Here.” He tossed the bag lightly—Stiles still fumbled it slightly—and lifted a hand. “I have to get going. Love you, kid.”

“Love you, too.” He gripped the bag and watched his father leave. He was getting tired of watching his family walk away from him.

He checked the bag and found a carton of goat milk nestled beside a hollow piece of bamboo. 

He walked back slowly, compiling a partial list in his head of the aspects of the curse. Derek’s obvious transformation. The missing pictures. Being unable to leave the property. Making family forget anyone who crossed the line—that could have applied to any Hales who didn’t live on the property, too. The apparently vanished Hale pack. The fact that everyone in town knew the rules of the curse—don’t cross or you’ll get stuck—without having had anyone really _tell_ them.

Stiles stopped, frowning. “Oh.” The core of the curse seemed to be isolating Derek. But what good would that do?

People could still cross the line, and had. Derek’s family was gone, but he wasn’t alone, or even unloved, because as much as they argued and as awkward as they were, the betas clearly loved him. 

So what good was it to forcefully isolate him? Where was the real punishment?

Curses were almost always a punishment, deserved or not.

But Derek _was_ a werewolf, Stiles reflected, and started walking again. His entire family lived in one house, right on top of each other, and had been close emotionally, as far as Stiles could tell from what Derek had said. 

Maybe that was necessary. Maybe werewolves needed the closeness of pack. If that was the case, what would have happened if Deaton, and then the others, hadn’t shown up? Would Derek have gone slowly out of his mind?

All alone out here for eight years, Stiles certainly would have, and he was human.

And if Derek had gone crazy from isolation, what would have happened when John was tricked over the line?

As he walked, Stiles wondered if the curse the sorceress had laid had even gone the way she’d intended. It would explain why John had been led to the line and why Scott had been shoved. Maybe she was getting impatient, waiting for Derek to lose it.

 _Or,_ he thought with a grin, _we’re getting close._

He got back to the house with a bounce in his step and renewed vigor. If it was the sorceress, and she was getting worried, then they were getting close. 

Stiles hesitated in the doorway. Should he tell Derek he suspected the sorceress was lurking around the property, or should he keep it to himself until he knew for sure?

The memory of Derek’s blank red gaze answered the question for him.

Derek was clearly afraid of her. No reason to stir him up over a suspicion. 

He squared his shoulders and stepped more fully into the house, closing the door behind him quietly. 

“Thinking deep thoughts there, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said. 

Stiles looked at him and shrugged. “Just trying to get us all out of here.”

He nodded and walked away with a book tucked under his arm.

Stiles shook his head and went to the kitchen to get a cup.

“It doesn’t smell bad,” Derek said cautiously as he stepped into the room.

“Because it’s not,” Stiles replied. He put the bamboo in the cup and held it out. “Drink all of it, okay, and through the bamboo.”

He took the cup and grimaced at it. “Okay.” 

Stiles left, heading to the library to grab his notebook, which had been mostly filled with scribbled notes that didn’t help anything. 

On the table where he’d left his notebook was the faery tale book, which had been in the kitchen two hours ago.

Stiles frowned at it. “What the hell?” he mumbled.

Someone sighed harshly behind him, a singularly impatient sound.

He whipped around, heart hammering. Since he was still alone, he pressed a trembling hand to his temple.

He hadn’t imagined that, _or_ the humming the other day. He took a slow, steadying breath and picked up his notebook and his pen.

“I am not,” he said firmly, “going to read this until after dinner.”

A chill danced over his spine when another sigh followed his words. 

He practically fled the room, bumping into Boyd in the hallway.

“Hey. Have any towels?” he asked, lifting the basket in his arms. 

Stiles swallowed. “No.” He looked over his shoulder and inched away from the library.

They walked together to the laundry room, where Stiles left Boyd to get the load of towels started.

“I’m just tired of nothing working,” he heard Derek say as he walked toward the kitchen. He sounded frustrated.

“ _Something_ will work,” Isaac said.

Stiles frowned and walked faster, prepared to give a pep talk despite his own disappointment. He’d just rounded the corner when something slammed into his face and sent him stumbling back, seeing stars. 

Pain bloomed in his nose as blood poured down over his mouth and chin. He tripped over his own feet trying to regain his balance and hit the floor with a jolt that zinged up his spine to his throbbing nose. 

“Stiles! Oh my god!” Hands tipped his face back, clawed thumbs pressing the sides of his nose gently.

“Ow,” he whimpered, opening his streaming eyes. “Ow, stop pressing.”

“I’m trying to see if it’s broken.”

Beyond Derek’s worried face, Stiles saw Isaac hovering anxiously. 

“It’s not broken,” he muttered. 

“I’m sorry. Isaac, can you get us some paper towels?”

Stiles coughed on the blood spilling down his throat and swatted Derek’s hands away. 

“S’posed to lean forward,” he mumbled. “Gonna make me sick if I keep letting it go down my throat.”

“Oh.” He pressed a wad of paper towels into Stiles’s hand. “Here, let me take you to the bathroom.”

Derek scooped an arm under Stiles’s knees and one behind his shoulders and lifted, quite easily.

“Oh. Well,” he said, blinking in surprise. 

Isaac stared after them while Derek carted Stiles off to the bathroom.

He set him gently on the counter. 

Stiles was still dizzy, so he busied himself by mopping the blood off his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I swung the door open that hard.” Derek grimaced. “And I didn’t hear you coming.” There he sounded puzzled. 

“I wasn’t being quiet on purpose.” His voice sounded congested, but it looked like the bleeding was slowing to a stop. “Ugh, yuck, this tastes terrible.” Talking hurt, too, so he just whimpered and went quiet.

“Here, let me…” Derek lifted a hand and cupped it over the back of Stiles’s neck.

Slowly, the throbbing pain in his face and head drained away, leaving an unpleasant, but not painful, stiffness around his nose.

“That’s _cool,_ ” he slurred. “Thanks.”

Derek nodded and, using his free hand, wet a clean rag and started dabbing Stiles’s cheeks. “You spattered it…a bit,” he explained. 

“Right. Thank you.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who hit you with the door,” he pointed out.

Stiles laughed a little, jostling enough to send Derek’s thumb skimming over his bottom lip. He sucked in a breath and froze, trying to understand his own reaction.

Derek hastily pulled his hand away and held the rag out. “Sorry, I’m—it’s not like you’re a toddler, right?” he laughed nervously. 

“Yeah, um, yeah.” Stiles wiped at his mouth and chin. “Do you think one of them could bring me some ice?”

“I can go get it,” Derek said. He started to walk away, but Stiles caught his arm.

“No, stay. My face still hurts,” he said with a quick, nervous smile. 

“Oh, right. Erica, can you bring us some ice?” he asked, his voice raised only slightly. He nodded to himself a second later, apparently having heard an answer. “Thank you.”

“So, the goat’s milk was a fail,” Stiles said to distract himself from the warm, heavy weight of Derek’s hand on the back of his neck.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I had a second cup of it just to be sure and…yeah, nothing.” His hand flexed around the back of Stiles’s neck. “I wish it was something really obvious. I hate this.”

“I know. I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

He looked at him quickly. “You’re doing a lot, I know that. _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. This is all my fault.” He said it with easy confidence, as if in a world of questions, this was one thing he could be sure of.

It was bullshit. 

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Stiles said sharply. “The sorceress who cursed you is at fault.”

Derek shrugged. “She wouldn’t have gotten close enough if I hadn’t let her.”

“She was _ten years_ older than you! You were a kid.” Stiles frowned at him. “She tried to burn your house down before she cursed you, right?”

Derek nodded warily. “But-”

“No, shh. So, okay, she was obviously trying to cause you guys harm. The curse was Plan B for her, which, along with her creeping on a sixteen-year-old, means she was a bad person and psychotic. That’s on _her_.” 

He nodded, though Stiles suspected it was just to shut him up, because a second later Erica barreled into the room with an ice pack. 

“Here you go—wow! Your face looks terrible!” Her eyes were comically wide as she held out the ice.

“Thanks. Okay, Derek, I’m ready for you to let go.” He put the ice against his nose.

Derek lifted his hand slowly, and the pain just flooded back in.

“Whew, okay.” Stiles blinked back reflexive tears. “Let’s go get dinner started.” 

“Um, no,” Derek said.

Stiles let out a short laugh. “Um, why?”

“You’re going to relax in the living room while we cook, since I practically broke your nose.”

“Okay…but you guys don’t really…don’t you guys need help?” he asked.

“No. We can follow a recipe,” Erica said smugly. 

“Well, yeah, but…okay. I guess I’ll go watch a movie.”

“Don’t fall asleep,” Derek said.

“I know. I’m not even tired. I just have a headache,” Stiles griped.

“Do you want me to carry you to the living room?”

“Nope, I’m going. See, look at me go.” He slid off the counter carefully, gripping it for balance. 

Isaac kept Stiles company in the living room. They watched _The Lost Boys_ while playing War with a worn deck of cards. 

“Okay, how bad does it look?” Stiles asked after he noticed Isaac avoid looking at him again. 

“You’ve got two black eyes forming and your nose is discolored and swollen,” he replied promptly. 

“Well, I took a freezer to the face,” he muttered.

“Derek’s really sorry,” Isaac said earnestly. “He didn’t know you were there, and he swung it so hard because he was frustrated.”

“I know. I’m not mad.” Stiles set down a card.

Isaac took the hint and started playing again. 

Erica, Boyd, and Derek had made beef stew. Stiles was impressed until he saw the mess of the kitchen.

“We’ll clean it up!” Derek said before he could squawk.

“You better. _How_ did you even-?” he couldn’t finish; he leaned back in his chair for a better angle, cringing as the change in position jostled his nose. “God,” he breathed, absorbing the mess. 

“We’ll clean it,” Erica insisted. “Taste the stew! We’re dying here!”

“Oh. Right.” He scooted into the table again and picked up his spoon. “Thank you for cooking,” he said before taking a bite. He smiled. “And thank you for cooking _well_. This tastes great.” And, even better, there wasn’t much chewing involved, which was perfect for the soreness in Stiles’s teeth from the blow.

“You’re welcome.” They looked pleased with themselves, the goofballs, and started eating then, satisfied. 

“Do you have any more ideas for the curse?” Deaton asked unexpectedly. 

Stiles shook his head and winced. “Not today. I’m going to work on some theories. My dad-” stupid, wimpy voice break giving him away- “had some good ideas about how to come up with more possible ways to break it that might not be mentioned in the books. So I’ll get started on that.” 

“Cool,” Boyd decided.

“Yeah. And obviously there are really old texts that Lydia is translating that might be useful. It just takes time. Which, I mean, we seem to have a lot of it.”

“We seem to,” Deaton said—Stiles wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with him or mocking him.

The table went quiet again as everyone focused on their meal. When they finished, Stiles was exempt from dish duties despite his protests. He was given a fresh ice pack to hold on his face instead, which made him grumble. 

He sat at the table while Isaac and Deaton did the dishes. Erica and Derek cleaned up the counters and stove top. Boyd kept Stiles company this time. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, studying Stiles’s face thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“There’s ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet upstairs. I’ll be right back.” 

Stiles frowned after him. “Who needed ibuprofen in a houseful of werewolves?”

“My Aunt Laini and cousin Emily were human,” Derek replied from the kitchen. “We have some first aid stuff for them.”

“Ahh, that makes sense.”

Derek brought him a cup of water when Boyd returned with the bulk sized bottle of 200 mg ibuprofen. 

“Take four,” Erica advised.

“ _Four?_ ”

“Eight hundred is the usual prescription strength,” she said offhandedly. “But you can take less. I just figured you wanted to feel it.” 

He decided to heed her advice—four now instead of two now and two later and feeling nothing both times seemed better—and gulped down a big drink of water with them.

“Once those take effect,” Erica began hesitantly, “would you still feel up to reading to us?”

Here was a perfect opportunity to back out, claim he was in too much pain and didn’t feel well enough to read aloud. Yet, for whatever reason, he said, “Yeah, I’ll still read. Give me an hour, though.” 

“Yes!”

The betas took off, chattering about showers and pajamas, and left Stiles with Derek.

“You don’t have to read to them,” he said. “I don’t know why they want to be read to so badly anyway.”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just reading.”

“If you say so.”

An hour later, they’d gathered in the living room. Stiles was on the couch with Boyd. Erica and Isaac had been regulated to the floor, because they’d been rough housing and almost knocked Stiles off. 

He picked at the book in his lap self-consciously. “So, um, what story…?”

“Cinderella,” Erica said promptly.

“Okay,” Boyd agreed.

Isaac shrugged. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders and settled, staring up at Stiles expectantly.

He sighed and opened the book to _Cinderella._ He cleared his throat and began, “The wife of a rich man fell sick, and as she felt that her end was drawing near, she called her only daughter to her bedside and said, “Dear child, be good and pious, and then the good God will always protect thee, and I will look down on thee from heaven and be near thee.” Thereupon she closed her eyes and departed.”

As he read, and as the others leaned in, leaned on each other, listening avidly, it occurred to Stiles that reading faery tales wasn’t so much about being read to as it was about the familiarity of the story and the closeness sharing it brought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't take more than the prescribed amount of ibuprofen! I generally take four 200mg but that's me and not you and...I swear I'm a responsible human.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry this is so late! NaNoWriMo and work ate my attention span today and I forgot to post! Yikes! D:

‘ _There once was a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs._ ’

_Faery Tales_ was filled with traditional stories, ones that Stiles had heard of, and also with stories he was sure the Hales had added. Those were things like _The Brave Little Wolf_ , _Hana and Garrett_ , _The Moon and the Raven_ , _The Wolf in the Glen_ , and _Red Cloak and the Wolf_. 

They were near the end, added by later hands. He hadn’t gotten to them yet, but the titles made him smile. He imagined that as the Hales read the stories to tiny werewolf ears, they’d realized that the wolf, if it was included at all, was almost always painted as the bad guy. 

He was sitting in the library, alone for once, and had been reading over the faery tales that some _thing_ in the house seemed to want him to read. He tapped the edge of the book, zoning out until his phone chimed. 

‘ **Sheriff not getting worse but some stuff seems to be gone, so not getting better either. Looking for new ideas.** ’

His good mood vanished. ‘ **K thanks** ’ He sat back in his seat. He didn’t move for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. Of course, Lydia had _said_ he wasn’t getting worse, but how long would that last? How long until Lexa cast a remembrance spell and Lydia asked John questions about Stiles and he asked, ‘Who?’

He scrubbed his hands over his face—it had been a couple days and the bruising on his nose had faded—and stood up, crossing the library in quick, agitated strides. What he needed was the pack to distract him, take his mind off of—

The door flew open just as he reached it, knocking him clean off his feet. 

“Oh my god!”

“Why do you keep hitting me?” he demanded. He didn’t bother getting up from his ungainly sprawl. The door had hit his shoulder and chest, where he’d been leaning in to open it; it had glanced off his chin, too, and part of his arm.

“You keep sneaking up on me—somehow! I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not doing this on purpose,” Derek babbled, sitting Stiles up and patting at him frantically.

“I know, I know,” Stiles griped. “I’m fine.” 

“Do you need band aids? Or ice?” Derek sniffed at him. “You aren’t bleeding.”

“I’m okay, seriously. Just a little dazed.” He managed a smile. “Um, so, what’s going on?”

Derek cringed slightly. “We, um, wanted to know if you wanted to play tag.” 

“Again? Last time you guys kicked my ass. I mean this literally,” he added. 

“We can be on a team, that way I can keep them from knocking you down.” He smiled hopefully.

Stiles sighed. “Alright. I’ll play.” 

“Great!” Derek held his hands out to help him up.

Stiles allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and tried not to let Derek see the conflict on his face—he was going outside to play while his father was forgetting he existed. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked instantly. “Other than being hit by a door,” he amended.

“I’m just worried about my dad,” he mumbled.

“Oh.” Derek set his jaw. “Did you have any ideas about the curse? We can try breaking it before we play. I don’t mind,” he said quickly.

Stiles drew a shaky breath. “I appreciate it. Yeah, I have a couple things to try. Lemme ask Lydia for help.”

He knew Derek didn’t think the curse would break today, with whatever Stiles wanted to try, but as long as there was a chance, he would get it done.

Lydia replied that she’d be at the line in an hour.

“Wanna get a snack before?” Stiles asked.

“Sure.”

Boyd and Isaac were in the kitchen—Erica and Deaton were in the basement, but Stiles was going to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“So, tag?” Isaac asked when they entered the kitchen.

“In a couple hours,” Derek replied quickly. “We want to try a couple things to break the curse first.” 

“Okay. We were having leftovers.” Boyd held out the bowl where they’d stored the leftover hamburgers from the night before.

Stiles took a couple and microwaved them, tapping his fingers lightly on the counter. 

 

He got to the line before Lydia, anxious. Derek had come with him but was adamant about staying out of sight. Stiles had become so used to his face that he forgot other people might look at him and see a monster. Clearly Derek never forgot about it.

“Okay,” Lydia said before she was even fully in sight, “I have two apples here and a printed sheet of instructions for each. The one with the stem goes with the front page.” She stopped a few feet from the line. “Do you want me to throw it? Step closer.”

“Okay. Thank you. How hard was it to find?”

“Not hard at all. The Heritage Cemetery had an apple tree at the far end and Blaire let me grab a couple.” She swung the bag over and nodded, satisfied, when he caught it. “We have to be missing something,” she said. “There has to be _something _about the curse that we don’t know.”__

__Stiles resisted the urge to look over his shoulder in Derek’s general direction. “Yeah, I feel the same way. I just don’t know what it is.”_ _

__Before she could answer, a bright blue light flashed near her throat. She tossed her head. “Try again, sweetie,” she said in a saccharine voice. “But try harder.” She looked at Stiles. “Someone is trying to use magic to push me.”_ _

__“What was that?”_ _

__“Lexa and her mother made this for me.” She plucked at a silver chain around her neck; a flat piece of metal dangled on the middle of it. “A protection charm.”_ _

__“So—you think—”_ _

__“I _think_ we’re scaring the sorceress who cast the curse,” she said smugly. “Keep going,” she called. “The more you act up, the closer we know we’re getting.”_ _

__Stiles cringed, imagining Derek listening behind him. “Right. Um, be careful, Lydia.”_ _

__She lifted her brows but didn’t mention the obvious dismissal. “Alright.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“You’re welcome. Text me.” She flipped him a wave as she turned and walked away._ _

__Once she was out of sight, Stiles turned around, cringing slightly._ _

__Derek came toward him slowly. “You think she’s…” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, but Stiles understood._ _

__“I think she’s lurking, yeah. ’Cause we’re getting close and she’s getting scared.”_ _

__He nodded, but he was backing away, too, like he was frightened. “Right.”_ _

__“We’re getting close, Derek—that’s the only reason she’s hovering. And she doesn’t want to get stuck, so she’s not going to get to you.”_ _

__Another nod, accompanied by wide, frightened eyes. “But what about when we break the curse?” he asked quietly._ _

__“We’re not going to let her curse you again,” Stiles said. “Or hurt you. I’ll make sure of that.”_ _

__Derek managed a wan smile. “Okay.” He looked over his shoulder. “Can we go back to the house now?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__Stiles pulled the instruction sheet out of the bag as they walked, skimming his gaze down it. It was pretty straight forward—the one with the stem was magic-free. Derek was to peel the apple and cut it into seven pieces, plus the core, and eat it, then bury the core. The apple without the stem had good magic infused into it. He would have to cut that one into three, eat two pieces, and put the last piece and the core beneath his bed overnight._ _

__“Okay, so, these are apples picked from a tree that grew in a cemetery,” Stiles explained as they climbed the front steps. “Pretty easy to do both of them. We’ll do the magic one later?”_ _

__“Is it possible to do them both now?” Derek asked, opening the door and stepping aside to let Stiles in first._ _

__“Sure, that’s fine, too. You have to put the core under your bed and sleep over it, though, if you’re okay leaving it there.”_ _

__“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” Derek shrugged._ _

__“Okay then. Then we’ll do them both at once, get it over with, then play some tag,” he said enthusiastically._ _

__“We don’t have to play tag,” Derek mumbled._ _

__Stiles frowned at him. “Come on. She’s already got you trapped on your property, don’t let her trap you in the _house_.” _ _

__“What if she’s watching?”_ _

__“Well, then, she can watch us having fun and not giving two fucks about her creepy ass,” Stiles snapped, firing up. “She can’t see us through the trees, unless she crosses the line and she does _not_ want to get trapped in here with us.” _ _

__“She doesn’t?” Derek repeated dully._ _

__“At least, she doesn’t want to get trapped in here with _me,_ ” Stiles amended._ _

__Derek snorted, a bit of his tension fading. “Oh, yeah? What’ll you be able to do against her? Unless you’re secretly a sorcerer,” he teased._ _

__“No, I’m not, but I’m harboring a lot of rage and aggression for her and I bet that will hold up well. I’m pretty sprightly for a human.”_ _

__Stiles read the instructions out loud for Derek while he carefully peeled, then cut, the stemmed apple._ _

__“Eat the seven pieces,” Stiles instructed._ _

__“What about the peel?” Derek wondered._ _

__Stiles checked the list. “Wrap it around the core, then we bury it.”_ _

__“Okay.” He ate the pieces one handed and wrapped the peel around the core with the other. “Next?”_ _

__“Next you cut the magical apple into three pieces and eat two of them. Keep its core separate from the first one.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__Stiles plucked at his jeans and pulled out his phone on a whim._ _

__‘ **Sorry to bother you again, but I’m thinking we need a list of sorceresses that are strong enough to have cast this curse, since Derek isn’t giving me a name. Someone in their mid-30s now.** ’_ _

__Lydia responded quickly. ‘ **I was wondering if you’d get to that. The age helps narrow it down. I’ll get back to you.** ’_ _

__‘ **Thank you.** ’_ _

__“This one goes where?”_ _

__“The third piece and the core go under your bed. You have to sleep over that.”_ _

__“Okay. I’ll go do that, then I’ll be back to finish the other one.”_ _

__“And then tag,” Stiles reminded him firmly._ _

__Derek gave him a fleeting smile and left the room._ _

__Stiles set his phone on the counter and left for the dining room, sitting at the table and leaning his chin on his palm._ _

__He hoped the damn apples worked. Wouldn’t that be something, though? A couple of apples breaking _this_ curse? Of all things, apples—_ _

__He jumped back with a shout when something dropped onto the table in front of him. He was on his feet, somehow, panting and trembling._ _

__“ _Why?_ ” he demanded when he saw it was the book of faery tales _again_. _ _

__He was alone in the room, but the book had certainly come flying over his head._ _

__“Stiles? You okay?” Boyd asked, rushing into the room._ _

__Erica and Deaton came flying through the doorway that led to the basement, shouting for Derek._ _

__Boyd tugged Stiles out of their way, wild eyed. “What happened?”_ _

__“Not now,” Erica snapped. “Derek! Downstairs! _Now!_ ” _ _

__Derek ran into the room but didn’t say anything, just shooed at them to take him downstairs. Deaton bolted back down first, with Erica and Derek on his heels._ _

__Stiles gaped after them, then looked at Boyd. “What just happened?”_ _

__Boyd shook his head. “I’m not really sure.” He looked worried though. He glanced at Stiles, then. “What happened to you?”_ _

__“Oh, uh…” He gestured awkwardly at the table, the book, trying to drag his attention away from what was going on downstairs. “That dropped on the table. It startled me.”_ _

__“Well, you were alone…” Boyd pointed out._ _

__“That would be why it scared me, yes.”_ _

__Boyd approached the table and leaned in, sniffing audibly at the book. He shook his head and straightened up. “All I smell is us, the pack, dust. Mostly you.” He shrugged._ _

__“Well that doesn’t explain how it’s here when I did _not_ bring it.” _ _

__“I don’t know.” Boyd didn't look overly worried, though, which was weird—something was moving a book around the house and it wasn’t any of them._ _

__Then, maybe living as a werewolf stuck on cursed property made Boyd kind of immune to the weird stuff._ _

__Werewolves and curses, though, those were tangible, sort of. This book was…weird._ _

__“So, okay, yeah, not a big deal _at all._ ” _ _

__Boyd shrugged. “It’s just a book. Maybe it’s magic.”_ _

__That wouldn’t explain the voice, the humming and the sighs; they had come from _something_ other than the book. _ _

__They sat in the dining room until Derek came back up, with Erica right behind him. “Tell Deaton I want to know if it happens again. Immediately,” he muttered._ _

__“Alright.” She bolted back down the stairs—what Stiles assumed were the stairs._ _

__Stiles glanced at Boyd, whose face had closed up, as if he’d understood what was going on suddenly._ _

__“What happened?” Stiles asked._ _

__Derek just looked at him for a moment. “Nothing,” he growled. “I’m going to bury this,” he muttered and stalked into the kitchen. He walked by again seconds later with the apple core and peel. He went straight by, without pause, out the front door._ _

__“You should go with him,” Boyd said quietly._ _

__“When he looked that pissed?” Stiles tried to scoff, but it didn’t come out as incredulous as he’d meant. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, stepping around him._ _

__Isaac was at the door staring out, utterly still._ _

__“Is he in the yard?” Stiles asked softly._ _

__Isaac nodded slowly, once, and stepped aside to let Stiles out._ _

__Derek stood motionless in the yard, apple bits in his hand. He turned his head slightly when Stiles approached him. “I didn’t know what to do with it,” he mumbled._ _

__“Um, bury it.”_ _

__“Anywhere?”_ _

__“I suppose. Beside the porch steps would work. Is there a shovel I can get for you, somewhere?”_ _

__“No, I can dig without it,” he muttered._ _

__“Okay.” Stiles followed him back to the porch and stood beside him when he crouched, wringing his hands. “Derek, are you okay? What just happened?”_ _

__Derek jerked his shoulders as he dug. “I’m fine,” he muttered._ _

__“Alright…” Stiles put his hands in his pockets and stepped back._ _

__Derek sighed and put the apple in the hole he’d dug and scooped the loose dirt on top of it. “It’s not a big deal, Stiles. Just forget it.”_ _

__Stiles scoffed. “You can ignore and brush off my questions all you want, Der, but I’m not going to _forget_ it.”_ _

__Derek shrugged. “Okay.”_ _

__Stiles sighed. “So, tag?”_ _

__Derek looked at him sharply. “ _What?_ ”_ _

__Stiles squared his shoulders. “We’re ready for tag now, right?” He didn’t let his gaze waver, even when thunder rumbled above them. “Tag,” he repeated through his teeth._ _

__“Uh, okay…”_ _

__“Good! I’ll go get the pack. You clean off your hands.” He didn’t give him a chance to answer—he just clattered up the steps and inside, where he found Boyd, Isaac, and Erica gathered in the foyer. He lifted his brows._ _

__“We were worried,” Isaac said in a tone that proved it. “We didn’t want you guys to fight again.”_ _

__Stiles moved his shoulders a little, not quite a shrug. “We didn’t. You have to speak to fight,” he muttered. “Anyway, come on. We’re going to play tag.”_ _

__They trailed after him like ducklings and all turned to face Derek at once._ _

__“Okay, we’re playing tag and it’s going to be _fun_ , dammit,” Stiles intoned, making Erica and Boyd laugh. _ _

__“Teams again?” Isaac asked anxiously, shifting a little closer to Stiles._ _

__“Yes, to make sure no one beats my ass like last time,” he joked. “I’ll go with Derek. He’ll keep you brats from kicking my butt.”_ _

__“Oh. Okay. Good.” Isaac nodded and bumped Erica lightly._ _

__She rolled her eyes. “Nope. You and Boyd can team up.”_ _

__“You can’t be It every time, Erica,” Boyd protested._ _

__“What, do you want to be It?”_ _

__“Yes!”_ _

__She looked startled by that, taking a step back. “Well—fine. You can be It and Isaac will be on my team.”_ _

__Boyd looked satisfied. “Okay then.” He grinned wolfishly._ _

__Isaac followed Erica when she took off; Stiles stalked past Derek toward the trees—he had a plan to head to the shed he’d used for shelter and hope that Boyd would ignore his scent there because of that._ _

__“Are you mad?” Derek asked hesitantly. He was following about three feet back._ _

__“Frustrated,” Stiles replied, side stepping a hole. “But now is not the time. Now we’re playing tag. No serious talk while tag is in session. We can talk later.” The last part came out a bit ominous._ _

__He heard Derek mutter, “You _are_ mad,” and rolled his eyes. _ _

__Stiles spotted the shed ahead of them and started walking faster, though he knew he wouldn’t just accidentally lose Derek in the trees._ _

__“Boyd’s chasing Isaac now,” Derek said, bumping into him slightly. “Why are we stopping?” He looked at the shed and scoffed. “He’s going to know you’re over here.”_ _

__“Is not. It’s perfect.” Stiles leaned against the side of the shed pointedly—it rocked dangerously._ _

__“No, it isn’t. It’s just a waiting spot for him to find you once he gets bored of chasing Isaac all over the yard.” Derek tilted his head slightly. “He’s coming this way, we should run.” He took off, then, to the left._ _

__Boyd burst out of the bushes—Stiles ran toward Derek, damned if he was going to get tackled again._ _

__He had longer legs than Boyd and was _just_ able to outrun him long enough to grab Derek’s arm and dig his nails in._ _

__“You—left—me—dude,” he gasped, nearly tripping over his own feet in his efforts to keep up._ _

__“You chose the worst spot on the property to _sit_ ,” Derek shot back. He veered sharply to the left, vaulting over some high bushes and dragging Stiles with him._ _

__Boyd careened past, yelping; there was a crash, followed by maniacal laughter. Erica raced by a second later in the other direction._ _

__“Well—keep going,” Stiles panted._ _

__Derek shrugged and started running again; Stiles nearly did a nose dive into the dirt when he did._ _

__“You’re bad at tag,” Derek pointed out, pulling Stiles’s arm over his shoulders._ _

__“Yeah, with _werewolves_ ,” Stiles wheezed. “Onward!” He flung his free arm out feebly. _ _

__Derek scoffed and started dragging him toward the front yard._ _

__Thunder grumbled above them. Stiles dropped his head back and grimaced at the sky. It was gray and moody looking, like the bottom was about to drop out._ _

__“Run, run, run!” Isaac shouted, flying past them._ _

__Boyd was right behind him, half-shifted and laughing, and Stiles found the energy to run._ _

__Rain poured down, soaking them all instantly, turning the ground slippery._ _

__Isaac was feet from base when Boyd leapt and tackled him, sent them skidding in the mud._ _

__Stiles laughed at the picture they made and stepped on his own foot, losing his balance and grabbing Derek’s sleeve on his way down._ _

__He landed with a splash and a crash of thunder, one hand still gripping fabric while Derek stooped over him in his ripped shirt._ _

__“Oops.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__Stiles raised his voice over the rain, “I said ‘ _oops!_ ’.”_ _

__Derek pitched forward suddenly and dropped on Stiles, flattening him into the mud._ _

__Boyd’s cold, wet hand slapped at Stiles’s shoulder. “Tag and tag!” he crowed. “One left and I win!”_ _

__“ _Cheater!_ ” Derek accused, getting up on his elbows. Then, thoughtfully, he said, “Not really, but that was a pathetic way to lose.”_ _

__Stiles laughed and leaned up to kiss Derek’s cheek, mud, rain, and all. “Thanks,” he said._ _

__Derek blinked at him, looking stunned. “For what?” He swiped at the rain dripping into his eyes._ _

__He just shook his head and flopped back into the mud, letting the rain pelt his face._ _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midnight posting because I am Just Too Excited. I also feel the need to reiterate--my pacing. It is dreadful.  
> Also needing to post this because comments will make me happy and, as I am a US citizen atm, there isn't much else to be happy about LOL hahahha ;-;

“There are too many people in this kitchen!” Stiles shouted. 

“But we’re bored and it’s hot outside,” Erica whined. She was sprawled beside the fridge, her cheek pressed against the cool tile.

Isaac was on his back a few feet away, eyes closed, and Boyd was by the door, stretched out. 

“I can’t cook like this! Go outside to bother Derek!” 

“It’s too hot,” Isaac groaned.

“Go get the hose or something, then. I need to finish all this stuff, if you want to eat.” He nudged Isaac’s ribs with the toe of his shoe, until he rolled over. He checked the pulled pork and grinned. “This is going to taste so awesome.”

“I didn’t know you could make pulled pork in a slow cooker,” Erica commented. Her voice was muffled, because she’d moved slightly to get another cool spot on the tile.

“He got Derek to take a bubble bath and grill hotdogs and hamburgers,” Boyd pointed out. “He can do whatever he wants.” 

“Precisely.” Stiles stepped over Boyd’s arm to get to the sink. He twisted on the cold water and tested it with his fingers before grabbing the sprayer and turning it on all three of them.

They all leaped up, screaming and scattering like a bunch of startled cats, leaving Stiles cackling.

“Brats,” he sighed, and got some towels to throw down while he finished up the coleslaw, the pork, and the veritable mountain of fries. 

It was July 4th and, while Stiles was all about festivities and food, he was hoping it would all soften Derek up to try something to break the curse before they played with the packs of sparklers and glow sticks Scott had tucked into each grocery bag he’d brought.

The fur hadn’t worked, so Stiles thought it was time to try a little blood. Not a lot, just a bit from each of the betas, but he bet if the sorceress was as sadistic as he thought, then having to hurt his own pack members could be an answer. 

He’d try it. Since the day of the Tag Game from Hell, Derek was ready and eager to try anything Stiles suggested, which only made him more curious about what had happened in the basement that day. 

He shook his head and checked the fries. 

When his food was done, he and Deaton carried it all outside in a couple of trips. Since Derek wasn’t done grilling the steaks, they’d all have to wait.

Stiles had also brought out the small, sharp knife he’d been using to cut up plants, provided by Lexa. He’d sanitized it as best he could, figuring that the werewolves probably couldn’t get infections anyway. He also brought the mortar. He’d put a bit of water willow and the ashes of a wolfsbane flower in it.

“Erica, come here!”

As expected, all three of them loped to his side, rather than just Erica. 

“Okay, so, I’m going to need some blood.” 

Isaac looked horrified. “What? Why?”

“Because it might break the curse.” Stiles shrugged. “You’ll heal quickly, right?” 

Erica nodded and swiped the knife off the table. “Into the bowl?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

She dug the knife into her upper forearm without flinching and tilted it so that the blood ran into the bowl. After a few seconds and a good-sized puddle of blood, the cut sealed up, leaving a faint red smear on her arm. She wiped the knife and held it out.

“Next?” she prompted. 

Isaac looked at Stiles. “Will you do it?”

“Do what—cut you?” he squeaked. “Um, I don’t—I can’t do that.”

Erica sighed and grabbed Isaac’s arm, pinning it under her own, and cut it herself.

He yelped and jerked, trying to pull away automatically. Erica just tightened her grip and held his arm above the bowl, squeezing blood out like ketchup from a packet. 

Stiles grimaced and looked away. 

“You next, Boyd.”

Boyd huffed and took the knife. He made outrageous faces as he cut his arm, prompting Isaac to stop shooting Erica dark looks and laugh a little. 

Stiles suspected that was the goal.

“What are you guys doing?” Derek called. “I smell blood.”

“Curse breaking,” Stiles called back. “Come over here.” 

“Why do you need _blood_?” he asked, but he was approaching. “Erica, can you watch the grill?”

She nodded and walked away.

“Because I figured the sorceress who cursed you is sadistic and maybe the blood of your packmates is an answer.”

Derek grimaced. “That sounds like something she’d enjoy, yeah.” He peered into the bowl.

“Isaac or Boyd can put it on your face, okay?” Stiles took a healthy step back, swallowing. “And I’m going to be _way_ over here.”

“Stiles doesn’t like blood,” Isaac concluded. 

“No, I do not. Like a mask!” he called over his shoulder. He went to observe the grill with Erica. 

“I can’t wait to _eat_ ,” she said, inhaling deeply over the steaks.

“Me neither.” He picked at the foil covering the corn on the cob, prompting Erica to elbow him.

“You have to wait with the rest of us.” 

“It didn’t work!” Boyd called. 

“Okay! Go wash it off! Take the bowl, too, please, and the knife.” He didn’t turn his head, afraid he’d see the two of them covered in blood. That was not an image he needed in his head. 

“Did I see sparklers in the bags?” Erica asked.

Stiles smiled at her. “Yeah. Scott decided it was a travesty not to have any sparklers on the 4th.” 

“Well, next time Scott comes, I want to come with,” she decided. “To thank him.”

“That’s fine.” He checked over his shoulder. 

Isaac and Deaton were spreading the food along the table, talking quietly and batting at the curious flies. 

“Since it won’t be dark for a while, want to play catch after we eat?”

“Sure. We can take pictures, too. Scott loves pictures, he’ll appreciate it if we take some while we’re doing the sparklers.” 

“Cool.” She frowned at the house after a moment of relative silence. “What’s taking them so long?”

“Uhhh…I don’t know. Let me go check.” He pointed at her. “If there’s still blood, I blame you for anything I do, including fainting.” 

She held her hands up. “Okay, that’s fine.” She grinned when he flicked a towel at her. 

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked as he passed. 

“Checking on Boyd and Derek. They’re taking too long and we’re hungry.” 

He heard the sink on in the kitchen and went there first, finding Boyd washing out the mortar.

“Everything okay?” he asked, careful not to look into the sink. 

“Oh, yeah. We were just thinking of making a cake after we eat. Also, Derek wanted to change, because he got blood on his shirt.”

“Oh, okay.” He frowned. “Shit, speaking of laundry, I left my darks in the washer.” 

“Whoops,” Boyd said lightly. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and crossed the kitchen toward the laundry room. He shook his head at himself and turned slightly to call back to Boyd. “Hey, what kind of—oof.” He pitched to the side as the laundry room door slammed into his shoulder.

“Stiles!” Derek dissolved into laughter. “I’m sorry, it isn’t funny—how do you keep sneaking up on me?” He laughed some more, apparently unable to control himself. 

Stiles rubbed his shoulder. “I don’t know, but this is getting crazy. You can hear Erica sassing you from across the house but I keep getting hit with doors?” Unfortunately, his scolding was marred with laughter, as he couldn’t help himself, seeing Derek so overcome in front of him. 

“I don’t know! It’s like you’re teleporting!” 

“Dude, if I could do that-”

Derek waved his hands desperately, trying to shut him up as he bent double with laughter.

“Are you two done?” Boyd called. “Or should I give you more alone time?”

Stiles snapped, “Shut up! I just got hit with another door!” 

“I didn’t mean it!” Derek protested. “I’m going to start announcing it when I open doors now, oh my god.” 

Stiles snorted and wiped his cheeks. “Yeah, right.” He sniffed, trying to fight back more laughter. “What kind of cake were you thinking?” he asked, walking back around to the kitchen. 

“Um, chocolate?”

“Awesome.” Stiles leaned against the counter. “We can make the cake, set up my timer outside, and play catch while it bakes.”

“Okay. After we eat, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay then. Let’s go eat.” 

Derek emerged and followed them out, still sort of chuckling. 

Deaton, Erica, and Isaac were standing by the table, watching them walk out.

“So…I guess the grill is done,” Derek said sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah. You took _forever._ ” Erica fanned herself with a plate. “Can we eat now or what?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

They all made plates quickly, which cut through any chatter that may have surfaced. Deaton thanked them for cooking and retreated into the house and, Stiles suspected, the air conditioning. 

Stiles sat between Boyd and Derek in the grass, crossing his legs and balancing his plate on his knee. It was full of a burger, hotdogs, and pulled pork and fries, there were so many fries. 

“We’re gonna make cake after we eat,” Boyd announced. 

“I thought we were playing catch!” Erica’s protest rose to shriek levels, making everyone flinch.

“We are. We’re making cake, then we’ll play catch until it’s done, take it out, play more catch, frost it.” Stiles waved his hands. “We’ll do everything, don’t worry. Plus, don’t you want cake?”

She sniffed. “Maybe.” 

“See? It all works out. Anything you want on the agenda, Isaac?” he asked brightly. 

“No…catch and cake sounds good.” He looked like he’d barely heard the conversation anyway, focused on plowing his way through his plate like a force of nature. 

“Well, good.” Stiles bit into his burger, amused. “This is good. You can grill!”

“Yeah, my mom insisted at least half of her children learn how to use the grill since my dad and uncles couldn’t work the thing.”

“Nice,” Erica snorted, licking ketchup off her wrist. “Even Prince Peter?”

Derek shot her a look before saying, “He never bothered to learn, since he was rarely here and could always get my mom to do it.” 

She shrugged.

“What did Peter do, then?” Isaac asked carefully. 

“Made sure we all knew he was here except when he wasn’t. He went on a lot of trips to buy his weird books,” Derek elaborated. “He liked to rub them in my mom’s face. They used to go together before she took over as the alpha, which he considered boring.” 

“That’s cool,” Stiles said. “Was there ever a time she got to go anymore?”

“Not really. She didn’t really miss it—at least she didn’t act like it. She would tease Peter about having itchy feet and commitment issues.” 

“Ha.” Stiles crunched on a fry and wondered if Derek had ever talked to them about his family before. Considering the pack had questions, too, he assumed Derek had kept his stories to himself, for the most part.

“Why’d you call him Prince Peter?” he asked, frowning at Erica.

“Peter was the uncle who cheated during the water gun battle,” Derek replied. “I told her about that a couple days ago. She’s been referring to him as _Prince_ ever since.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Huh.”

Amazingly, they’d managed to make enough that there were leftovers, so Erica and Isaac started carting them in while Stiles and Boyd found the cookbook. Derek got to work pulling out containers for the leftovers. 

“So this book’s instructions are easier to follow,” Stiles said, pulling out a cookbook he’d found. “Than the other one we used,” he explained. “Too much nonsense in between steps.” 

“Oh.” Boyd flipped through it until he found the simple chocolate cake recipe. 

“Perfect. I can help,” Stiles as they turned to leave. He immediately tripped over something; Boyd caught his shoulder to keep him from hitting the floor. “What the…” He glared at the book and deliberately stepped over it to leave the room.

Unfortunately, Boyd chose this time to be more curious about the book than he would have anticipated, because he brought it with them to the kitchen. 

“We’re all done,” Isaac said. “Erica wants to play while you guys bake.” He set the last container in the fridge and ducked out.

Boyd put the _Faery Tales_ book on the counter. 

Stiles glared at it.

“Maybe you should read it?” Boyd suggested.

“I _have_ been! Just not today! There are a ton of stories in there,” he pointed out.

“What’s next?” Boyd asked, setting the cookbook open on the counter next to the fridge. 

Stiles snorted. “ _Sleeping Beauty._ I’ve heard about that story, okay, it’s creepy as fuck. I don’t want to read it!” 

“Then skip it.” 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid to skip any of the tales, because what if—and that was a very _small_ if—there _was_ something he was supposed to see in the book? What if there were answers in the book? He felt stupid for thinking it, but at the same time, he wasn’t going to be skipping any of the stories. 

“No, I’ll just read it while you guys are playing catch,” he muttered. 

Once the cake was in the oven and the timer on Stiles’s phone was set, they went back outside. Stiles stopped at the table to set his phone down where Boyd could get to it, too, and dragged a chair into the shade. 

“I thought you were playing, too,” Derek said, following him. 

“Yeah, no. I like to watch you guys and if I don’t play, you guys don’t have to pull your throws.” He smiled and sat in his chair. “I’ve got entertainment.” He waggled the book.

Derek’s nose wrinkled; it should have looked like a snarl, but it just came across as adorably weird on his wolf-face. “ _Faery Tales_ again?”

“Well, the book seems to be following me around, so I thought I’d might as well read it.” 

Derek shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do. Go play! I’ll take pictures and we can laugh at Erica’s concentration face later.” 

“I heard that!” 

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop!” he shouted.

“You shouldn’t talk about people!” she countered. 

“She’s got a po-”

“No,” Stiles said quickly. “Don’t side with _them_ , ugh, we have to present a united front.”

Derek looked puzzled for a moment. “Uh, okay, Erica, don’t eavesdrop!”

She threw the baseball at him; luckily for her, he caught it.

“Go play before they gang up on us.” Stiles opened the book in his lap to show Derek he was serious. 

Derek sighed and jogged back to the middle of the yard. 

Stiles focused on the book and grimaced. 

‘ _In past times there were a king and queen who said every day ‘Oh, if only we had a child!’ but they never received one.  
Then it happened one day while the queen was…_ ’

So it turned out the Grimm Brothers version of _Sleeping Beauty_ wasn’t the super creepy one. It was _sort_ of creepy—who goes and kisses someone they don’t know, who’s unconscious? Stiles thought that was creepy. 

“Cake’s done!” Boyd called, jarring him. 

“What? When?” Stiles blinked and looked around. 

“Um, about five minutes ago. Where were you?”

“Right here. I mean, I was—reading.” He closed the book and rubbed his face. “Sorry.”

Boyd held his hand out and pulled Stiles to his feet. 

“Thanks. Wow. I got absorbed, I guess.”

“Yeah. We frosted the cake. Um, well, Isaac did, anyway.”

Stiles gave him a quizzical look, because he couldn’t understand why that was funny. 

Until he did.

“Oh, boy.”

Isaac had frosting on his cheeks and all over his hands, and the cake was…

“It looks like a ploughed field,” Erica commented.

Isaac glowered at her. “It does not!”

It _did_ , but of course Stiles couldn’t say that, not with Isaac turning his big, sad blue eyes on him.

“Um, nope, it just looks like you had—maybe a little trouble spreading the frosting. It’s fixable.” Stiles looked at Boyd for help, making him smirk. 

“Come on, let’s go get the sparklers ready,” he said, bumping and nudging Erica and Isaac until they left the kitchen with him. 

Stiles checked the frosting and figured there was just enough for him to patch up the cake. 

Derek came in to watch. “Isaac’s frosting skills are interesting,” he said with a careful glance over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I noticed.” Stiles shrugged and started spreading the frosting. “It’s fine. I helped Scott fix the cake he ruined for Mother’s Day last year. This year we went for cupcakes. More Scott’s speed.”

“You always make stuff for Scott’s mother?”

Because it sounded like a genuinely curious question, Stiles decided to answer it. “Yeah. We make cards for my mom, too, and leave flowers at her grave. She was crazy about flowers, even those little weedy ones I would find on the way home. We cook for Melissa, even though she swears she hates when we cook—we do make a mess,” he admitted. “But she always tears up when we give her the food.” He smiled to himself at the reminder. “Look, all fixed,” he said with a flourish.

“So, we can have cake and then we can do sparklers?”

“Yep. There’s glow sticks, too. Guys! Deaton! Cake!” 

Deaton stepped into the kitchen almost immediately, frowning. “You can call me Alan, Stiles, you’re not seven anymore.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “You can’t tell me that wouldn’t be weird, _Alan_.” 

Deaton couldn’t hide his quick grimace.

“Told you. Some lines can never be breached, dude. I still call my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Carver.” Stiles could have sworn he saw Deaton roll his eyes, but he couldn’t prove it, so he just started cutting the cake.

 

They all ate a piece of cake in the kitchen together. There wasn’t much talking, aside from everyone thanking Boyd for making the cake. 

“We can do the dishes later, come on, let’s go play,” Erica insisted, tugging on Derek and Stiles’s arms. “Come on, before the fire department starts theirs!”

“Fine, but the dishes better get done,” Stiles said, allowing himself to be towed through the dining room to the door. “There’s enough for everyone to have a box,” he said when they got outside. “Or we can open all of them and put them in a pile.”

“Pile,” Derek said immediately.

“Seconded!” Erica sang, snatching up a blue box from the table. 

“Okay, let’s dump ’em, then.” 

Stiles passed out lighters after Derek gave them a lecture on being careful. 

They each had glow sticks on their necks, too, so Stiles snapped a few pictures for Scott once the sparklers got going.

“Look at those two,” Derek sighed, watching Erica and Isaac start sword fighting with their sparklers.

Boyd shook his head and drew pictures with his, and flicked the handle at Isaac’s head once it’d gone out.

“Why aren’t you playing with any?” Derek asked. He seemed to be writing names with his. _Peter_ , followed by _Talia_ , _Ethan_ , _Casey, Laini,_ and _Mikaela._

“I will. I’m just enjoying the show at the moment.” He nodded at the betas. 

Boyd, armed with two sparklers, had joined the sword fight and was now chasing Erica and Isaac all over the yard. 

Derek snorted. “Is Stiles your real name?” he asked, drawing an _S_ in the air. 

“Oh, it’s a nickname, but I will take the real one to the grave.” He shrugged. “Even when he’s mad, Dad calls me Stiles.” 

“Ah.” With big, looping script, he wrote _Stiles_ with his sparkler, just before it died out. 

Stiles passed him a new one and held up his phone. 

Derek’s hand flew up to cover his face instantly.

“No one will see it but me,” Stiles promised. “Now smile.” He held the phone up again.

Reluctantly, Derek dropped his hand and smiled, his upper fangs jutting awkwardly over his bottom lip. 

Stiles took the picture and smiled, stowing the phone. “Good. Now, I’ll play. What’s your middle name?” he asked. He grabbed a sparkler and twirled it between his fingers before lighting it. 

Derek snorted and stepped back, so Stiles just spelled out _Derek Fucking Hale_.

“That is _not_ my name,” he protested. 

“Well, it _would_ have been right if you’d have told me your middle name.” Stiles waved the sparkler at him like a wand, raining sparks over his shoulders. 

Erica let out a battle cry and went streaking across the yard, three sparklers in each hand, trailing light behind her. 

Isaac and Boyd shrieked at the sight of her, dropping their sparklers and making a run for it, rounding the far side of the house. 

Out of sight, there was silence, until Isaac let out an echoing yelp.

Stiles had to grab Derek’s arm to stay up right, he was laughing so hard. 

When Boyd ran around the other side of the house, wild eyed and with Erica on his butt, Stiles thought he might need CPR. 

“It’s not that funny, Stiles,” Derek admonished, but his voice was trembling because it _was_ that funny. 

Erica leapt and tackled Boyd, her deadened sparklers flying out of her hands as they landed in a heap. 

“That’s pretty much all of them,” Derek said. He had forcibly composed himself while Stiles was still a snorting mess beside him. “Let’s go get a blanket to sit on to watch the fireworks.”

Stiles took a deep breath and rubbed his sore cheeks. “Ah, I can’t believe you guys can see them out here.” 

“We watch them every year,” Derek replied. “Why are you rubbing your face?”

“I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt.” He sighed. “Okay, let’s go get a blanket and get ready for the show.” 

Isaac threw his glow stick at Erica and Boyd, who were making out where they’d fallen, and followed Derek and Stiles into the house.

“I’m gonna watch, too,” he said.

“That’s…cool,” Stiles said slowly. He’d assumed they all were going to watch together, but judging by the look on Derek’s face, that was not the usual tradition. 

“You sure?” he muttered, and Isaac just nodded, his hands in his pockets. 

Derek shrugged a little and stepped aside to let them in first, leaving the front door open behind them. He led the way to a hall closet, pulling out a large, heavy blanket. 

Stiles considered asking Isaac why he didn’t normally watch the fireworks, or maybe why he decided to watch this year, but couldn’t bring himself to actually speak the questions.

He was maybe afraid of the answer. 

“Where do we sit?” he asked instead, stepping out of Derek’s way. 

He glanced over his shoulder. “Backyard. You’ll see.”

Isaac detoured to the kitchen on their way out, snagging leftover burgers and eating them cold.

“That is disgusting.”

“S’delicious,” Isaac argued with his mouth full. 

“Blech.” 

Derek spread the blanket out in the grass a few feet from the muddy sandbox, with Stiles’s help.

Erica and Boyd seemed to notice them finally and scrambled over to claim a spot on the blanket. Erica stretched out her legs and Boyd leaned back between her knees, resting his head on her stomach. 

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” Stiles asked.

Erica leaned forward and kissed Boyd with little effort. “Nope. Perfect.” 

He shrugged and sat beside Derek, stretching his own legs out and leaning back on his palms. 

Isaac sat on Stiles’s right, leaning against his side companionably. 

Derek glanced at them. “How’s your shoulder?”

Stiles frowned at him. “Huh?”

“Where I hit you with the door.”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s fine.” 

“You hit Stiles with _another_ door?” Erica demanded. 

“It was an _accident,_ ” Derek objected. “He keeps sneaking up on me!” 

“ _How_?” 

“Shh,” Boyd said, lifting his arm and pointing. 

Light flared above them, followed by the boom. 

Stiles wanted to point out that _technically_ , quiet wasn’t required to watch colored sparks in the sky, but Isaac squeezed his arm and distracted him, fingers curled around his wrist like he was holding a lifeline. 

His fingers flexed with every boom, until Stiles wiggled his hand down, putting them palm to palm so his wrist bones weren’t grinding together anymore.

Derek leaned his head against Sitles’s shoulder a second later.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, posting this a _little_ early because I have a cold and want to sleep as long as possible tomorrow before I go to work.  
>  (I swear, if you go through every one of my fics on here and read the author's notes, at least once during posting I've gotten sick it's like _I'm_ cursed or something lol)
> 
> **There's blood in this chapter. Be warned.** (also questions get answered! Ah...sort of.)

While Stiles had seen the betas messing around on the day of a full moon before, he suspected that Derek had been trying to keep them away from him that last time. This time they were clingy and rambunctious and whiny. 

They were all gathered in the dining room, as it was the only place with a cool floor for them to sprawl on, should they wish to, and with a table for them to sit at. 

Boyd knocked a cup off the table, shattering it—the noise pissed Erica off; she hurled a book at him, but missed and hit Isaac, who had been dozing against Stiles’s leg.

He woke with a furious shout, lunging at her. Boyd immediately joined the tangle. 

Stiles set his book on the table, closing it over his finger, watching them. He sighed. This was the third fight they’d had since they woke up. 

“Derek, are you going to break them up, or should I?” he called, cringing when they started snarling loudly. 

Derek, who had gone to get himself a book, yelled, “Take it outside!” from the hallway.

Boyd picked Erica up around the waist and carried her out, over his shoulder, while she hurled curses and snarls at Isaac. 

Isaac wiped blood off his cheek and mouth and went back to Stiles’s side, leaning his head against his leg.

Derek stepped in, then, frowning. “I’ll get a broom,” he muttered. He set the book he’d chosen—modern romance this time, it looked like—on the table.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I—” Stiles gestured wordlessly at his book and Isaac, who was by far the clingiest this time around.

Derek shrugged and left to get the broom. He looked tired, himself, and was probably as irritable as the rest of them. 

Stiles went back to reading _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_ , and kept calling himself crazy for thinking there might be answers in a book about princesses. 

He was starting to think he was crazy for thinking there were answers at all.

He shook his head at himself and looked back at the book, frowning. If he gave up hope, he’d have nothing, really, and he didn’t want to be stuck here forever. 

Even becoming friends with the pack, even with Derek here, he didn’t want to be trapped. 

Isaac looked up, the point of his chin digging into Stiles’s thigh. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just annoyed,” he muttered. “These stories are just, ugh.”

Isaac snorted. “I’m hungry.” 

“Congratulations,” Stiles said dryly. “Go get something.”

Isaac groaned and stretched out on the floor. “I don’t wanna.”

Derek came back with the broom and lifted his brows. 

Stiles nudged Isaac with his toe. “What do you want, then?”

“Peanut butter,” he grumbled. 

Stiles sighed.

Derek shrugged and began sweeping up the glass.

“Fine. No more broken dishes,” he said, hopefully loud enough for Erica and Boyd to hear outside. He stood up and, leaving his book on the table, went to the kitchen. He pulled down the peanut butter and bread, rooting around the fridge for the jelly they liked. 

Isaac muttered something, to which Derek responded with a firm, “No.” Isaac sighed loudly. 

Stiles made sandwiches. He used the rest of the first loaf of bread and half of the second loaf, since he knew their appetites. They’d eaten lunch barely an hour ago.

Within minutes, Erica was back inside, draped over his back to watch him making the sandwiches. 

“Can I have one?” she asked, pinching the back of his hand lightly. 

“Not yet. Almost done.”

She huffed angrily and stomped away.

She was sitting on Isaac’s back when he returned to the dining room—they had apparently made up, because she was scratching his scalp gently and he had his eyes closed, content. 

Boyd was laying across Derek’s feet, eyes closed, too, like it was nap time. 

“Here, eat up, you piranhas.” He set the plate on the table and grabbed his book again. “Apparently, Snow White was _seven_ in this.”

“Ew,” Erica decided. It sounded more like “ermf” because her mouth was full of peanut butter and bread. 

“Yeah, agreed.” He frowned at her. “But don’t spray crumbs everywhere, jeeze.”

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, but couldn’t curse at him due to her full mouth. Stilinski—1, bratty Reyes—0. 

“What should we have for dinner?” he asked, looking at Derek.

“We’re going to hunt tonight, so we probably won’t eat before we go. Your choice.”

“Okay, yeah, no problem. I’ll make something and put the leftovers in the fridge for you guys, so you can eat when you get home. There’s nothing out there that’s going to fill all of you,” he added when it looked like Derek might protest. “Don’t argue. It’s easier to cook a full meal anyway.”

“Okay.”

Stiles rubbed his cheek and looked back at his book. It was hard to focus with so much activity around him, but he _had_ to read it. “I think I’m going to the library. The chairs are more comfortable.”

“Okay,” Derek said again. He was reading his own book, leaning over it as the spine pressed flat on the table.

Stiles smiled fondly and left the room.

Erica followed him, still eating her last sandwich. “I’m bored,” she mumbled. “I wanna play catch. Or tag. Or anything.” 

“Play with Boyd. You guys are too rough today.” He took a seat and curled his legs up under him, opening the book again.

Erica sighed loudly and sprawled on the floor in front of his chair. “Can I paint your nails, then?”

Wordlessly, he set his feet on the floor, adjusting his position to keep his balance. 

She cheered and left the room at a sprint, leaving him in peace.

He’d moved on to _Rumpelstiltskin_ by the time she got back.

“Just hold still,” she said.

He grunted in response, though he did flinch a little when she grabbed his left foot. 

Her fingers clamped down like a vise, holding him still whether he’d wanted to be or not.

He relaxed and focused on the story again. He didn’t even notice when she switched to the right foot, too busy trying to see any hidden meanings in the words. 

“Door,” Derek called, before coming in. “We’re going outside, Erica. Want to come?”

“What time is it?” Stiles asked, stretching. 

“About five, but I figured running off some energy a little early wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yes! Let’s go.” She jumped to her feet and danced in place. 

“Will you guys be out there all night?” Stiles asked casually.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He caught sight of Stiles’s expression and smiled. “We’ll use the hose for water if we get thirsty.” 

“It’s really hot out,” he pointed out. “Just stay hydrated.” 

Erica laughed and squeezed him around the shoulders. “Thanks. See you tomorrow!” she trilled as she danced toward the door.

Derek watched her go with mild amusement, then turned back to Stiles. “You okay?”

He furrowed his brows. “Yeah, why?”

“You’ve seemed really tense all day. Almost as bad as us.”

“Nope, I’m good. Just, you know, reading my stalker book.”

Derek snorted and shook his head, apparently accepting that answer, because he followed Erica out.

Stiles sat there, stiff, until he heard Boyd and Isaac call out their goodnights and slam the front door. When they were outside, he sighed gustily, relaxing and trying not to feel too guilty. 

He looked at his toes—a shimmery blue-green color that made him think of dragon scales—and had to admire Erica’s skill. He couldn’t have been _that_ still.

He had a plan for the evening that didn’t involve reading, cooking, _or_ sleeping. He’d kept his nose buried in the book all day to avoid actively thinking about it. Whenever he did, his chest got all tense with nerves, heart pounding, as it was now, and that certainly would have given him away to the pack.

He swallowed and rubbed his fist against his pounding heart. 

Once Deaton went to bed, he was going to sneak into the basement.

He knew, he _knew_ it was a betrayal of trust, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing details of the curse, vital details, and that was what was stopping him from breaking it.

Or maybe he was just that much of a jerk, couldn’t mind his own business to save his life. 

But he felt he had a right to know, if it’d help break the curse. He’d become a friend—maybe (hopefully) even a part of the pack—and he wanted to help Derek as much as he wanted to help himself.

He cared about all of them, even—maybe especially (oh god) Derek, and he just hoped that after he’d done this, they could forgive him.

 

Alan Deaton was the most tireless maybe-forty-something man Stiles had ever known. He would not go to sleep. 

They ate silently at dinner, every scrape and clink of dishes making Stiles feel like jumping out of his skin with guilt. Deaton insisted on doing the dishes because Stiles had cooked. Then he had a bowl of mint chip ice cream, while reading at the dining table. 

By nightfall—nine ish?—Stiles was nearly crawling the walls. He was on to _The Juniper Tree_ in the book and had reread the same paragraph four times. 

How could Deaton still be wide awake?

Hell, John was a fairly active man and probably a few years younger than Deaton and he liked to take naps on his days off—sometimes an hour before he went to bed, even.

Thirty more minutes passed in horrible, echoing silence. Stiles wanted to peel the skin off the backs of his hands in strips just to kill the guilt skittering over him like insects. 

It was ten-thirteen when Deaton shut his book, making Stiles jump. Lips twitching, he said, “Well, I think I’m done for the night.”

“Oh, really?” He tried to sound surprised, but couldn’t unclench his jaw enough for sincerity. “Well, goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Mr. Stilinski,” he said sagely.

Stiles felt like he’d been caught, so he waited a full thirty minutes before standing up. He paced the dining room, fingers twitching against his thighs. He paced into the hall, toward the library. The room Deaton used was closed and dark, quiet.

“Shit,” Stiles muttered, because now he had no excuses left. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket with trembling fingers and walked back to the dining room. He stared at the darkened doorway nervously. 

He flicked on the flashlight on his phone and closed his eyes as he stepped through the doorway. 

He peeked and found himself in what appeared to be a coat nook—there was a closed door across from him and hooks on the walls. Some of them had jackets of varying sizes and colors on them, others were empty. He sighed and crossed to the door, twisting the knob and bracing for—something. 

No alarms blared, the pack did not come racing in, accusing him of betrayal. He sighed and looked at the stairs that descended into shadows.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered. He shined his light on the steps and started down them.

They didn’t creak like he expected them to, and the further down he went, the lighter his surroundings got. 

He frowned and hurried down the last few steps. The floor was cement, and there were shelves to his left, filled with tools and boxes overflowing with toys and tiny clothes. To his right was a wall of shower curtains, strung up from the ceiling. They were lit by a few lamps that had been left on. 

A chill danced over his skin, though he couldn’t fathom why. He couldn’t see any clear shadows beyond the curtains, just dark blotches.

He turned off his flashlight and put his phone in his pocket. His hands felt clammy, the fingertips gone cold. He felt like someone was watching him and glanced over his shoulder anxiously.

He laughed at himself tremulously. No one was there, of course no one was there. If it was Deaton, he’d have heard him, and the pack—they were all outside, because they _trusted him_.

Guilt halted him in his tracks. 

“They’ll smell me down here either way,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his arms briskly. He took a bracing breath and stepped toward the curtain. He clamped his teeth over his lip and whipped it back.

At first, all he saw were the lamps and chairs—and the space, wow, the basement was huge.

It was filled with metal folding chairs lamps upon small, crudely-built tables. 

Then he noticed the beds. Fully assembled—albeit missing head and footboards, if they had any—and each with a small stack of books, a lamp, and a chair beside them. There were twelve. 

Each of them had a short IV stand beside it. 

Stomach twisting, Stiles crept closer to the nearest bed. His whole body was shaking and everything in him wanted to run away, hide, but he pushed forward. 

The bed closest to him was twin-sized, with dinosaur sheets. A girl with short copper hair laid in it, no more than nine-years-old. Her face was peaceful, but pale—everything about her was so, so pale, lifeless, and Stiles—his breath was loud, frantic pants in his ears. His chest heaved, his vision wavered—was it that little girl, was it his mother? They blurred together in one lifeless body, he couldn’t split memory from reality, he could only imagine touching her cold cheek and—

He was trembling head to foot and he needed to get away, get out—he turned sharply, but his legs felt heavy, strange, and his foot tangled with the IV stand.

His head slammed hard into the folding chair beside the bed before he hit the floor. 

 

“—very long, four minutes, maybe,” Isaac was saying frantically when he surfaced from the dark. “We didn’t hear, we weren’t in the house. Derek just knew.”

“He’s waking up!” 

Stiles cringed, turning his face away from the high chatter of nervous voices. His head throbbed and his face felt warm and sticky.

“He moved his head. Um, yeah. Stiles,” Isaac said carefully. “Wanna open your eyes?”

He grumbled but managed, cringing again at the lights shining in his face. 

“One opened—no, no, the other one just has blood sticking it closed. I think he banged his head on the way down. Yeah, on a chair. Okay.” He wiped at Stiles’s face with something cool and wet until both eyes could open. “Yeah, they’re the same size,” he said after he peered into Stiles’s face for a second. 

He had Stiles’s phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, Stiles realized. 

Well, that made sense. He was obviously talking to someone other than Stiles, someone Stiles couldn’t hear talking, unlike Erica and Boyd, who were murmuring behind his head somewhere. 

Stiles’s gaze wheeled around dizzily, trying to figure out who else was talking. 

“Stiles, do you know where you are?” Isaac asked loudly, drawing his wandering attention. 

“Ummm.” His mouth felt fuzzy, strange. “Hale house.” He blinked and looked up, trying to figure out which room he was in. Definitely not the library. No windows. 

“What’s the date?”

“Nineteenth. Shit,” he mumbled. “Weren’t you guys running?” He made a face. 

“No, it doesn’t sound like it. Do you want to listen? Okay, I’ll hold it out. Stiles, talk to Nurse McCall, okay? She wants to make sure you’re not concussed.”

“’m not,” he muttered. “Mel?”

“Hey, kiddo. You doing okay? How do you feel?”

He swallowed. “Okay. Got a headache. Little confused.” 

“Sweetie, what happened? Did you fall? All Isaac told me was that you were unconscious and bleeding.” 

He blinked blearily and tried to sit up—whoever was behind him helped ease him into a sitting position. “Uh…” He put a hand to his head, which was spinning. “Oh. Oh, no,” he groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Blech. There’s blood all over my face!”

She sighed noisily, annoyed. “I’m trying to make sure you’re okay! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry. I’m okay.” He rubbed his face, grimacing when flecks of dried blood came off against his palm. 

“Did you fall, Stiles?” Melissa asked again.

He frowned and looked at Isaac. “No, I…I fainted…” Remembering suddenly, he jerked back—he could see the bed and the overturned chair beyond Isaac. He scrambled away, flashes of black popping in his vision. “I have to call you back,” he rasped.

“Stiles!” 

“I’ll call you back.” He dropped the phone and turned, trying to run, but he slammed into Boyd, who helped him stand—he backed away.

“What—the—fuck?” he gasped, shuddering. “Why are there _bodies_ —?”

Boyd looked alarmed. “Stiles, your head is still—” He reached out.

“Don’t touch me!” Stiles yelled, banging into a shelf and causing a rain of toys. 

Derek came from behind him, his face twisted with worry. “Stiles, just let me explain while we clean up your cut.” He reached for Stiles’s arm.

Stiles jumped back and bolted around him, tripping on the stairs. He didn’t even try to get back up—he just clawed his way up on all fours. He stumbled at the top, banging into the doorframe. He sucked in huge breaths, scrambling out into the dining room. He might have knocked over a chair or two—he wasn’t sure, he just had to get away. 

Blood poured fresh from the gash on his forehead as he ran, tearing at the front door until it opened. 

He was dizzy and his head throbbed in time with his racing heart, but the images dancing in his head had him running still, until he found the shed in the dark. He didn’t even know what time it was. He’d dropped his phone. He couldn’t check the time without his phone.

He ripped the door of the shed open and threw himself in. He slammed the door behind him and crawled to the far left corner. Panting, shaking, he curled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His feet hurt, too, because he’d torn out of the house barefoot. He uncurled after a moment to strip off his top shirt and press it to the cut to his head. 

In the way of head wounds, the amount of blood seemed better suited to a severed limb rather than the four inch cut, but damn, it hurt. 

Good god. Derek had _bodies_ in his basement. Twelve, if Stiles had counted right. He might not have. The sight of them—the sight of the girl up close had…scared him. Scared, traumatized, the same thing. 

But, just…why?

He sat up straight.

“Oh, god.” 

They had to be the Hales. He was keeping his _family_ in the _basement_. Were they dead? They certainly _looked_ dead. So why keep them? And, oh, oh, no, what did the pack _do_ when they went down there throughout the day, if they were dead? 

Wouldn’t they have started decomposing if they were dead? Did the curse preserve them? Why would it _do that?_

Why were they in the fucking basement?

Stiles didn’t sleep. He sat in the shed, staring, wondering, until he saw sun shining through the door. He touched his head, wincing as his joints popped. His face and hair were stiff with dried blood that had dripped under his shirt. His shirt, which had once been blue. He grimaced and tossed it aside. 

The door creeped open, sent his heart skittering in his chest. It drifted open, so slow and lazy that Stiles might have thought it was the wind except that it seemed too deliberate. 

He waited, holding his breath, but no one stepped into view. After a few seconds, he exhaled and rubbed his fist over his heart.

“ _Read_ ,” a voice said as a book slapped onto the floor in front of him.

He flinched, pressing back against the wall, but whoever had spoken— _whatever_ had spoken—was gone. 

He stared at the _Faery Tales_ book, shaken. He didn’t want to touch it, but reading would take his mind off things. 

He was afraid to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was concussed or not, and he was afraid…he didn’t want anyone to sneak up on him. He just needed to be alone to calm down for a while. 

Logically, he knew the only way he was going to understand what was going on was to let Derek explain, like he’d wanted to.

He didn’t want to go back to that house, knowing what was…under it.

She’d been so pale and young.

He took a deep breath, clearing his mind, and reached for the book. He flipped to where the ribbon was holding his place. 

“ _They danced there till three o’clock in the morning when all the shoes were danced into holes, and they were forced to leave off; the princes rowed them back again over the lake, and this time the soldier seated himself by the eldest. On the shore they took leave of their princes, and promised to return the following night. When they reached the stairs the soldier ran in front of them and lay down in his bed, and when the twelve had come up slowly and wearily, he was already snoring so loudly that they could all hear him and they said, “So far as he is concerned, we are safe.” They took off their beautiful dresses, laid them away, put the worn-out shoes under the bed, and lay down. Next morning the soldier was resolved not to speak, but to watch the wonderful goings on, and again went with them._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles’s reaction is solely based on my personal experiences with fainting/head injuries, of which I have a lot, unfortunately, lol. Biology teachers never seemed to believe me when I said I would most definitely faint. Also I am clumsy and somehow my head has come in contact with plenty of hard surfaces.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, with my terrible pacing. You guys don't understand how bad it is. I'm so sorry. I just hope everyone still likes it! :D
> 
> More answers! I'm working on the sequel as I post this! :DD

“What do you _mean_ you’re not at the house?” Lydia demanded. While she would never do anything so unrefined as _shrieking_ , her voice was raised and definitely a bit higher in pitch than normal.

When he’d stepped outside finally, for some air, he discovered his phone set just beyond the door. He’d snatched it up before scurrying back inside the shed like a frightened rodent. He wasn’t proud. 

“Um, well. There was…an incident.” He paced the shed, wincing when shafts of sunlight hit his eyes. 

“Like what?” she barked. “Melissa said you fell.”

“No, Lydia, I _fainted._ I may have panicked myself after seeing the twelve _bodies_ in the basement.” He swallowed loudly, rubbing his fist against his chest. 

She was quiet for a long moment. “I see. How’s your head?”

“There’s a cut and I’m freaking exhausted. And starving. I stayed up all night because I was afraid—well, in general, and that I had a concussion.”

She sighed. “Stiles.”

“ _Bodies_ , Lydia.” 

“How do you know they’re dead?” she shot back. “Sleeping curses are cast all the time here, this could be a combination curse. It’s powerful enough.”

“I—they—she looked so –pale and –ugh. I don’t want to go back.”

“You’re going to have to,” she said flatly. “I’ve already had to ask someone for their tears for you.”

“I—what?”

“The tears of someone suffering heartbreak, crushed red roses dotted with the blood of a young dog—it’s all very distasteful, but I’m going to try for you. So you’ll try for me,” she said firmly. “Because I don’t intend to ask Mrs. Mayhew for her tears for no reason.”

Stiles blinked, momentarily distracted. “Why is she—?”

“Oh. Her son…” Lydia’s voice softened. “He died earlier this week. A motorcycle accident.” She cleared her throat. “She agreed when I asked. She was fond of the Hale kids. I think her son was friends with one of the older ones.” 

“Oh.”

“So, Stilinski, get your shit together and find out what’s going on.” 

“Um, alright.” He was too stunned to say anything else.

“And let them keep an eye on you. They’re your friends, too. Lahey called Melissa when they found you, so they obviously aren’t murderous psychopaths.” She hung up on him before he could respond.

He ran his hand through his hair, wincing when his palm grazed his cut. He put his phone in his pocket—his left, seeing as he’d bruised his right hip and thigh when he slammed into the cement floor. 

He rubbed his hands on his pants and took a deep breath, then expelled it noisily, when something thumped behind him. He groaned and crouched to pick up the book. Bending made him dizzy, so crouching saved more time for the moment.

He tucked the book under his arm and left the shed. 

He couldn’t force himself to get any closer than the middle of the front yard, but it didn’t matter—as soon as he stepped close enough, Derek came out of the house and stood on the porch.

“Are you okay?” he called.

Stiles flinched. “Um, yeah.” He stepped back a little, then planted his feet to keep himself from retreating any more.

“I can get you a towel if you want to use the hose to clean your face,” Derek said, resigned. 

“That would be…good. Thanks.”

He nodded and turned to go in the house, but Boyd whipped the door open and held out a white towel.

When Derek had taken it, he slammed the door in his face. 

“They’re mad at me,” he explained, descending the stairs slowly.

“For what?” Stiles asked through his teeth. He was trying not to back away as Derek walked closer, holding the towel out.

“For not telling you everything before this.” He stopped maybe four feet away, arm outstretched. He looked pained.

Stiles shuffled forward to take the towel, retreating hastily. 

Derek grimaced. “I hoped—I just…I didn’t want you to see them.” He held one hand out, palm up. “I didn’t want to scare you and,” he lifted the other hand, “I felt guilty. It’s my fault they’re like that. I didn’t…want you to see.” 

Stiles clutched the towel to his chest, unable to reply.

Derek sighed softly. “Why don’t you go wash your face, then come back so I can tell you everything?”

That was what he wanted. He needed everything so he could break the curse and go home. He couldn’t form words, still, so he just nodded. 

Derek went back to the porch and sat on the steps, resting his chin on his hands. 

Stiles stepped back, keeping his gaze on Derek all the way until he rounded the corner. The hose was attached to a spigot on the back of the house. He put the book on the ground a few feet away before turning it on.

The water was cold, but it made him more alert and clearheaded. He wiped his face and hair with the wet towel, staining it, until it started coming away clean. His head still throbbed, and when he used his phone camera to check it, he discovered a big starburst bruise around the gash. 

At least all the blood was off. He picked up the book, squeezed the towel between his fists, and made his way back around the front of the house.

His eyes were too wide, he knew, and his wet hair was standing straight up. All that combined with the cut and bruise, the discoloration under his eyes from the sleepless night, made for a seriously crazed look.

He wasn’t sure anything Derek said to him would make sense, but he figured that listening couldn’t hurt anything.

Derek was exactly as he’d left him, though he perked up a bit when Stiles walked closer to him.

“We can sit on the porch,” Stiles said. He didn't want to go in the house, but sitting in the yard seemed stupid.

Derek nodded and scrambled up the steps and out of his way. 

Stiles watched warily until Derek chose a spot. Then he sat as far from him as he could manage. He wasn’t sure he could handle being close to anyone at the moment. He was about six feet away. The porch wasn’t very big. He set the book beside his leg.

“I—well—” Derek sighed. “First, I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t—I was just trying to protect everyone, and—and I was ashamed and guilty, so I hid them from you.”

Stiles licked his lips and asked, “Are they dead?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “No, they’re not. I’ll start from the beginning.” He sighed sadly. “So, when I met her, um, Kate, her name was Kate. She was twenty-six…” 

_Once upon a time, a twenty-six-year-old woman named Kate seduced a sixteen-year-old werewolf boy. Once he was well and truly hooked, she became colder, crueler. She made him afraid to talk, afraid of himself, too afraid of being belittled to say no to her. And then, she tried to kill his whole family. When she got caught by the werewolf’s family, she ran. But she returned._

_The young werewolf, heartbroken and furious, thought he could send her away himself, but Kate had come prepared—while she was gone, she’d found a book of curses. She was powerful enough to cast a curse so potent that it killed the trees and grass within ten feet of her and dug a groove into the parameters of the curse._

_Stunned, cursed and afraid, the werewolf had run home, only to find his entire family, his pack, had fallen into an unbreakable slumber. They were living, but frozen, their heartbeats slow and steady. The boy called for help and his mother’s emissary came._

_Together, they put the family members in their own beds for their eight year slumber._

“—but they got really feverish, so we moved them out of any direct sunlight,” Derek explained. “They haven’t even twitched in eight years, but the other day, Peter started convulsing and his pulse stopped. I thought he died, but it started again.” He rubbed his face. “They haven’t aged or changed at all. It’s like they’re frozen.”

Stiles nodded slowly. The story, as Derek had told it, had squeezed his heart, but he couldn’t quite manage more than that.

“We read to them,” Derek murmured, tracing his claw over the porch. “Everyday. We take turns. Deaton tried giving them IVs to keep them hydrated, but—like I said, it’s like they’re frozen. The needles just broke.” He ran his hand over his knee. “I guess I’m the oldest now. My oldest sister, Laura, she was twenty-two. I guess she still is. But I’m twenty-four. So I’m older than her and Simon now.” He sighed. “That’s everything.”

“Okay.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted to say he was sorry this had happened to Derek, and that he was going to help fix it. But before he could unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Lydia texted him.

‘ **Come to the line.** ’

He stared at the text. It occurred to him that maybe the reason he wasn’t all that responsive was his sleepless night and the head wound. He was too tired—physically and emotionally—to give Derek the horrified reaction he deserved. 

So Stiles mumbled about meeting Lydia and stood up, wobbling off the porch. He heard Derek say that he was coming to make sure Stiles didn’t get hurt, but he only grunted in response. 

Lydia had a corked glass bottle in her hands. Small bits of red flower petals floated through what Stiles could only assume were the tears. 

“You look like hell. You should get some sleep,” she said disapprovingly. “And ice.”

“Working on it,” he muttered. 

“Catch this.” She tossed the bottle, but, as tired as he was, he barely managed to twitch in time to reach for it.

Luckily, Derek caught it. 

Lydia looked at him. “Mr. Hale,” she said politely, like it wasn’t the first time she’d ever seen a half-shifted werewolf. “What was the name of the sorceress who cursed you?” she asked casually.

“Kate,” Stiles mumbled, because that was the extent of his knowledge of her. 

“Kate _what?_ ” she asked impatiently.

“Kate Argent,” Derek said. He shot Stiles a nervous, confused look. “And…she wasn’t a sorceress when I met her.”

Stiles gaped at her. “Huh? You didn’t tell me that!” 

Even Lydia looked shocked at the news.

“I thought I did. She was human. We can smell magic in people, even if they try to hide it,” he explained, mostly to Lydia. “She didn’t have any when I met her, or even when she tried to kill us.”

“Huh.” Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Alright. Stiles, get some rest, then text me every detail about the curse that you can. I’m going to research power transference and Kate Argent.”

“Danny,” Stiles said abruptly and stupidly. 

“What?” 

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Mahealani. He can help you.”

“With what?” she asked, frowning. “He doesn’t know anything about curses.”

“No, but he can help you with Kate Argent. He can find…people. Or something.”

Somehow, that made sense to Lydia, because her face cleared and she hummed thoughtfully.

Derek just looked more confused. 

“Alright. I have to go now. Rest,” she said sternly. 

When she’d left, Derek turned to Stiles. “Do you want to go back to the house to sleep?” he asked tentatively. 

Stiles nodded. He gestured at the bottle Derek was holding. “You have to put that on your hands.” He sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of marbles. 

“What?”

“Shake it up and put it on your hands like lotion.” 

“Okay. I’ll do that when we get back to the house.”

Stiles nodded and started shuffling back to the house. “Derek?” He didn’t turn his head or try to look at him. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m too tired to really talk about it right now, but thank you for explaining.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment, then said, “Okay.”

The betas were nowhere in sight when they got back to the house, so Stiles was able to go to his room, close the door firmly, and crawl into bed. 

 

He dreamed of the woods, walking around, lost, until he stumbled upon Derek, still and pale like the rest of his family. 

He woke with a jolt, shuddering and gasping. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. It was dim in the room, only a little light coming from the blinds. It must have been nearing sunset. 

Someone tapped on the door.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, figuring any of the werewolves could hear him.

Boyd opened the door. “We made you soup.” He brought a bowl to Stiles. 

“Thank you.” 

“Derek tried whatever was in the bottle—it didn’t work.”

“Okay.”

“Deaton wants to check the cut on your head.” He held out the bowl out.

Stiles took the soup, clenching his hands around the warm glass. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll go get him.” He backed out of the room. 

Stiles spooned up some of the soup. It tasted pretty good, for a simple chicken noodle. He hoped they’d cleaned up the mess they undoubtedly made. 

Deaton came in seconds after Stiles had finished his bowl and set it aside. 

Erica was right behind him. Her hair was pulled back and she looked anxious. 

“I brought you some ice.” She swapped her ice pack for his empty bowl and left quickly. 

“Before you put the ice on that, let me look at it,” Deaton said, approaching the bed. 

Stiles moved closer to the edge helpfully. 

Deaton’s hands were cool and gentle as he prodded at the cut. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Huh?”

“I assumed you were looking for _something_ in the basement,” he said casually. He reached for the box he’d brought with him and ripped open an antibiotic packet.

“I wasn’t _looking_ for anything, but knowing about…them…helps. And about Kate.”

Deaton hesitated, then ruthlessly smeared the antibiotic ointment over the cut. “Derek told you about Kate?” he asked.

“Yes. He told me everything. Or what he says is everything,” he muttered. 

Deaton nudged his arm until he picked up the ice pack and pressed it to his head. “Well, if you know about Kate and the family, then it seems you do know everything.” He closed the first aid kit. “Oh, I found this outside your door.” He set the book of faery tales on the bed next to Stiles’s knee.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He’d left it on the porch, but apparently it followed him. 

“I’m going to send Erica back with water. Are you still hungry? They can bring you more soup.” 

“Um, yeah, that’d be great.” 

Deaton nodded and left. 

Stiles pocked the book and scoffed. “You aren’t any help.” He leaned his head back against the wall so he could balance the ice pack on his forehead without holding his arm up. 

Honestly, even knowing what he did, he wasn’t sure what else there was to do to break the curse. 

Bathe Derek in spring water? It would be hell getting enough to fill a tub. Use the blood of his whole pack? He’d said Dr. Deaton couldn’t insert needles, why would a knife work? Plus, he didn't want to be the one cutting into them, and somehow he couldn’t see Derek being okay with it, either.

He sighed. He was still really tired and hungry, and his headache was coming back. Maybe after some rest, he’d have a better idea or two.

Boyd and Erica came in after a few minutes. Erica had a big cup of ice water and some crackers; Boyd had another bowl of soup. 

“We wanted him to tell you,” Erica said quickly. “Weeks ago.” 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said. “Thank you.” He took a sip of the water, discovered just how thirsty he was, and chugged over half of it. He set it on the nightstand. “That soup is really good, guys. You did awesome.” 

“Boyd did it while I was cleaning the floor,” Erica boasted.

“The floor?”

She frowned. “Your head bled all over the floor in the basement.” She reached up to brush her head near the spot where his cut was. “It’s not that big but, man, it sure bled a lot.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

“Here, eat,” Boyd said, thrusting the bowl at Stiles. 

“Thanks. Where’s Isaac?” he asked carefully. Out of all of them, he wouldn’t expect Isaac to be mad about him going down there, but the fact was, Isaac was the only one avoiding him. 

“Oh, well…” Erica looked at Boyd, grimacing.

“He hasn’t come out of his room since you ran off. We think the blood freaked him out. And that he’s mad at Derek.” 

“But not at me?”

They both looked shocked. “No,” Erica laughed. “Why would he be mad at you?”

Stiles shifted in place, embarrassed, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Well, because I snuck down there. I was told not to go down there and I went anyway. I figured someone would be mad.”

Boyd shook his head. “We’ve wanted to tell you and, honestly, we thought you’d break long before this. Derek’s not mad because he always makes things his fault; he’s so relieved that you didn’t die he doesn’t even care you didn’t listen to him.”

“Plus, this technically _was_ his fault, this time,” Erica pointed out. “If he’d have just listened to us, Stiles wouldn’t have tripped and fallen.”

“Um, about that,” Stiles interrupted. He cringed, embarrassed. “I did trip, but I probably wouldn’t have if my legs…I was going to faint either way.”

“You…fainted? Why?” Erica looked like she didn’t know if she was allowed to laugh or not. She settled on a curious and amused expression, lips pressed together. 

Boyd elbowed her. “Because he thought Derek was keeping twelve _dead people_ in his basement.” 

“Oh! Really?” She grimaced. “How did you think he kept them from decomposing?” 

Stiles gagged a little, pushing the half-eaten bowl of soup away. “Um, I didn’t really think of the logistics, I just saw what appeared to be a very creepy collection of bodies and tried to get the hell out of there.” 

“Right.” She picked up the bowl. “Are you done with this then?”

“Yeah. You guys grossed me out.”

“Whoops.” She took the bowl and left, much happier than when she’d come in.

Boyd pulled something out of his back pocket and rattled it. “Ibuprofen might help with the headache more than ice.” 

“Yes, please.” He took four with water and sighed, setting the ice on his thigh.

Boyd poked the faery tale book. “Any magical answers pop out at you yet?”

Stiles snorted. “No, but it keeps following me around.” He flipped open the cover. 

“Hmm.” Boyd nudged the sleeve of crackers. “Do you want that?”

“No.” He drank the rest of the water. “No, I think I’m going to go back to sleep, actually.” He yawned and scratched his cheek.

“Okay. Sleep well.” 

“Thanks.”

He put the book on the nightstand and wiggled down until his head was on the pillow. Then, remembering that he’d promised to text Lydia, he groaned and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

He wasn’t able to keep his eyes open enough to worry about spelling mistakes or typos—he just told her everything Derek had told him earlier, everything he’d gathered. He was looking at the phone with only one eye by the time he got to the end. He tapped send and waited for her response before tossing the phone aside. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. 

 

What seemed like seconds later, Stiles bolted awake, heart hammering, and didn't know why. He blinked into the darkness, confused. 

“Stiles?”

“Isaac?” he muttered. “What’s going on?”

“I had a nightmare,” Isaac whispered. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay.” He rubbed his face and patted the bed. “C’mon. I’m tired.” 

Isaac hesitated, then crawled onto the bed and curled into a ball. 

Stiles hadn’t quite fallen asleep when Boyd and Erica joined them. He smiled against his pillow and closed his eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Please enjoy! Hopefully this chapter is acceptable~! C:

Stiles’s phone rang at eight am, which, for once, was fine, because he’d woken an hour ago. He was feeling much better, well-rested, so he answered Lydia’s call without resentment.

“Hello,” he chirped.

“You sound much better today,” she commented. Her voice sounded notably tense. 

“I got some sleep.” He looked at the bed, where Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were still sleeping. “A _lot_ of sleep. And some food.” He’d settled himself halfway in the closet. He didn't want to wake them, but he also didn’t want to leave the room. So, closet. 

“Good. Well, I haven’t slept.” She made an impatient noise when he tried to apologize. “Be quiet. I got caught up. Danny sent me some stuff and I found more in the records.”

“About the curse?” he asked, puzzled. 

“More about the Argents, actually. Kate Argent—and her family—is a werewolf hunter. They’re a big family, and popular in certain circles. Kate is the youngest daughter in the business, it looks like. At least, as far as the records go. To be fair, they could be outdated.”

“So, what, they came here to kill the Hales?” Stiles asked, baffled. Why would Kate go through the trouble of seducing Derek and getting magic from somewhere if her whole family had made a career out of what she’d failed to do?

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, surprised.

“Nope. They passed through a decade ago, checking in on the Hales. They have some sort of code, I don’t know. When they saw that the Hales were a large, stable pack, they just moved on. Or most of them did.”

Stiles was still puzzled. “I just—where did a _werewolf hunter_ get the kind of juice to do _this_ spell?”

Lydia snorted softly. “I don’t know, but she didn't do it very well. I assume she didn’t have time to get used to doing magic before casting the curse.” 

“Didn’t do—Lydia, there are twelve werewolves _frozen_ in the basement, three werewolves stuck here, and two humans.” He laughed incredulously. “How—how is that not doing it well?”

“She wasn’t very _thorough_ ,” she insisted. “A curse this powerful…it could have made _everyone_ forget the people who crossed the line, but it’s limited to people who share blood. She could have _made sure_ Derek didn’t become Alpha when no other member of his family was left, which would have ensured he couldn’t make betas. That would have left him with two humans and a dead boy for company—from what you told me about how Isaac was when he got there. How long would he have held out hope, do you think, isolated like that?”

After a thoughtful second, Stiles said, “I’m so glad you’ve decided to use your brain for good rather than evil. We’d all be annihilated.” 

“I would need servants,” she said lightly. “So not _all._ ”

Stiles pressed his knuckles against his sternum. “What do you think happened, then?”

“I think she had a ton of power and absolutely no clue what to do with it.” Her voice went muffled. “No sugar, Jackson. Thanks.” She sighed. “Someone had to give the power to her. Of course, I have no idea _who_ , but I’ve been trying to narrow it down. It would probably be someone older, with more experience—the books say that power transference spells require a lot of experience and power. From what I read, the sorceress can take it back whenever.” She grumbled under her breath for a moment. “Lexa said that there might be an agreement—a contract, of sorts. As long as Kate does _whatever_ they agreed to, then she can use the magic. But—this is just us guessing, of course—if she uses the magic in a way the sorceress—or sorcerer, I guess—doesn’t want her to, they might take it away.”

“So…” He felt stupid, because he didn’t quite get what she was implying.

“So, the person she got the magic from doesn’t care about what she did to the Hales. We could be dealing with a sorcerer or sorceress who is prejudiced against werewolves specifically. That may narrow down suspects.”

“To who?” Stiles asked, exasperated. He couldn’t think of any sorceress who had a thing against werewolves specifically.

“I don’t know,” Lydia snapped. “I’m just trying to work out a way to fix this!”

“I know! I know, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his chest, grimacing. “I know you’re doing this for me, Lydia, I appreciate it.”

“Good, because I’m working my ass off.” She sighed. “Maybe you can get one of your buddies to send me pictures of the Hale family, that way I can see what it is.” 

“Sleeping curse, transformation curse, containment curse…like five different curses all Frankensteined together. I’ll ask Derek to take pictures for you,” he said before she could snarl at him.

“Good.” She yawned quietly. “For now, keep reading. I’m going to do some more research, and then I’m going to sleep for twelve hours straight.”

“Okay. Thank you, Lyd.”

“You’re welcome.” She hung up.

Stiles set his phone on the floor and tapped his fingers against his knee. He couldn’t stay hiding in the bedroom all day and, honestly, he was starving. 

So he sighed and stood up, pocketing his phone and getting out of the closet. 

He glared at the book on the nightstand. 

“You stay here. I’ll read later.”

He crept out of the room on tiptoes, though he figured if they were going to wake up, they probably would have when he was on the phone.

He rubbed his nose and closed the door softly behind him, turning to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Derek was coming up from the basement when Stiles passed through the dining room. He hesitated, then said, “Good morning. I was just reading to Cora and Casey.” 

“Morning.” Stiles closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “What were you reading to them?”

Derek smiled. “ _Maximum Ride_ by James Patterson. It was Cora’s favorite book.”

Stiles couldn’t help smiling back. “How old is she?”

“She’s supposed to be twenty, but…she’s twelve. Casey’s ten,” he mumbled. 

Awkward silence settled heavily between them. 

Stiles cleared his throat. “I read that when I was twelve, too. I liked it.” 

Derek nodded. “She didn’t like the second or third as much.”

“Right.” Stiles decided he couldn’t stay too mad, for whatever reason. “Want to make breakfast with me?”

“Yes.” He smiled again and followed Stiles to the kitchen.

Those little smiles were going to make Stiles’s heart jump out of his throat, and then no one would want breakfast. 

“So, um, Lydia wanted to know if you could use my phone to send her pictures of your family. She wants to see if anything stands out to her.”

“Okay, sure. But I’m not sure how to take pictures on your phone.”

Stiles snorted. “Right. I’ll show you.” He turned so he was beside Derek and pulled his phone out. “So, here, I’ll just pull the camera up for you. You just tap this button…” He took a picture of their feet and attached it, tilting the phone to make sure Derek could see. “Then you tap send.” He deleted the picture without sending it. 

“Oh. That’s simple.”

“And yet my father still can’t do it.” He shrugged. “Do you want to go do it now?”

“Sure.”

Stiles let him take the phone and busied himself with grabbing the eggs out of the fridge. He figured scrambled eggs were easy, and light. Plus, he could make a ton of them while bacon cooked in the oven.

While he got everything set up, he considered the day. He could stay mad at Derek, or at least wary, for keeping things from him, which had landed Stiles with a head injury. Even though he’d finally told Stiles the whole story, they could have been out of here—or at least closer to breaking the curse—if Derek had told Stiles the details, like he’d wanted.

Or Stiles could be grateful Derek wasn’t angry that he’d gone into the basement and admit to himself that staying mad was too difficult.

That was another issue. Stiles felt like he was close to them, that they’d bonded; he felt like he and Derek were—friends. Yet Derek still hadn’t wanted to tell Stiles everything, even after they…well, bonded. 

“You’re such an idiot,” he muttered, flushing. He grabbed a mixing bowl from the cabinets above him and started cracking eggs into it.

There wasn’t much of an option. He’d just have to accept the fact that Derek hadn’t—and probably still didn’t—trusted him enough to tell him. The only reason he’d explained everything was because he didn’t want Stiles to think he had dead people in his basement.

“What’re you thinking about?” Derek asked, making Stiles jump a little. “Lydia said thank you and to tell you not to text her unless it was an emergency until tomorrow morning.” 

“I’m thinking about these eggs,” Stiles said. “And the bacon. You can put the phone on the counter.” He couldn’t quite arrange his expression to be neutral, so he kept his back turned. “Should I put cheese in these? Everyone likes cheese.” 

“Yeah, go ahead. I don’t think they’ll mind.” Derek seemed to be hovering, unsure of what to do.

“You can put the bacon on a pan and into the oven, then start on some toast,” Stiles suggested. 

Derek was less tense with something to do, and cooking distracted Stiles from his thoughts.

“Breakfast used to be a fend-for-yourself meal in the summer,” Derek said casually while he lined a pan with as much bacon as he could fit.

“Why?”

“Because Uncle Ethan liked making sure we ate a lot before school in the mornings, but in the summer he’d cook at a shelter in the morning.”

Stiles sighed gustily, reaching for a fork. “One uncle goes traveling, the other cooks at a shelter—your family members sound like main characters from different bestsellers. Action/adventure for Peter, and one of those books that’s heartwarming and sweet, and also makes you feel guilty for not doing more for charity at the same time for Ethan.”

Derek snorted, while Stiles waved around the fork he’d retrieved. 

“If you tell me that Ethan met his wife at a charity event, I might hurl.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“But I bet they met in a nauseatingly cute way,” Stiles sneered.

“Actually,” Derek said smugly, “Aunt Laini hit Ethan with her car while he was taking a walk, and they were yelling at each other so much that an onlooker called the police. It wasn’t until after they were almost charged with public disturbance that they realized they hadn’t called an ambulance and that Ethan wasn’t injured anymore. They had drinks at a bar an hour later—after convincing the deputy that there was no reason to arrest anyone.” 

“Wow. What a way to start a relationship,” Stiles snickered. “Please tell me she made puns.”

“She likes to threaten to hit him with her car when they get into little arguments,” Derek offered.

“Good,” he said approvingly. “Man, how’d your parents meet? Did your mom beat him with a baseball bat?”

Derek’s face crinkled up, but he laughed anyway. “Ah, no, they met in college. My mom sent my dad roses and asked him out.”

“Awww, that’s sweet,” Stiles simpered, only half-teasing.

“He said no,” Derek deadpanned. “And told her roses were clichéd. Mom offered to shove them down his throat instead. _Then_ he accepted.” 

“Your family is so violent!”

Derek shrugged. “They just have strong personalities.” He hesitated, then, as he was bending to put the bacon in the oven, he asked, “How did your parents meet?”

“My mom was drunk and punched a guy in a bar and my dad had to arrest her,” Stiles replied promptly.

“ _My_ family is violent?”

“I never said mine wasn’t,” he laughed. He poured the eggs into a frying pan and flipped the stove eye on.

“Did the guy press charges?”

“Nah, not after Dad got the full story from witnesses. Dude put something in a girl’s drink, Mom called him on it, they started arguing. Guess Mom got tired of his crap and punched him.” He smiled, remembering the first time they’d told him that story. He’d started thinking of his mom as some sort of badass bar brawler for a month after that.

“Wow. She sounds great.”

“She was,” Stiles said quietly. He cleared his throat again. “Maybe after we break the curse, I can show you some pictures of her.”

“I’d like that.” Derek studied the eggs Stiles was poking at with odd intensity. “Do you have any more questions you wanted to ask? You were really out of it yesterday, so I figured….I’d answer, if you had any.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Did you know she was a werewolf hunter?”

Derek flinched. “I knew her family was,” he said steadily. “She made it seem very…romantic,” he hedged, “that our families could be seen as enemies.” He shrugged. “I ate it up. When it wasn’t so exciting or romantic anymore, I didn’t…it was too late to stop her from getting to us.” He reached for the bread and started fidgeting with the tie.

“I can see how it would seem romantic. At sixteen, of course it seems romantic,” he said sharply when Derek snorted. 

“I knew what she was and let her get close anyway.”

“She manipulated you,” Stiles said flatly. “A kid. You can’t take the blame for that.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “I knew who she was—what she was. It’s not like she even bothered to hide it from me!”

“Sixteen-year-olds are dumb!” Stiles snapped. “That’s the whole point! You were a kid and she was the adult who had no business messing with you.”

He huffed angrily and dumped the eggs onto a plate Derek must have put on the counter.

“But I—” he stopped, just stopped, and his face went paper white. 

Stiles dropped the pan on the counter. “What? Derek? What’s happening?”

Derek swallowed with a click and turned his head very slowly. He let out a shaking breath when he saw that no one was there. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles demanded. “You’re freaking me out! Are you okay?”

“Yeah—yes. I just…it—it felt like…Uncle Peter used to…he did this thing when we got in trouble with my mom...He’d put his hand on your back—it was his way of, I don’t know, reminding you to stand up straight, or that he was there, or maybe own up to your mistake—I don’t know. I never asked, he did it my whole life, for all of us. I just—it felt like someone was _there_.” He leaned through the doorway, like he might spot someone.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Stiles offered.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I know no one was there. I didn’t smell or hear anyone.” He shook himself. “It’s probably because I was thinking about him.”

Stiles nodded, pressing his lips together.

“I’m going to wake them up for breakfast.”

When he walked out, Stiles looked at the counter he’d been leaning against. The _Faery Tales_ book was sitting there, pushed up against the wall. 

“What did I say?” he grumbled. “Was that you? Why freak him out?” He put his hand over his eyes. “Haunted or not, there’s no reason to question a book.” He sighed and bent to check the bacon.

Derek hadn’t started on the toast. He had opened the bag of bread and shredded the end piece while he’d twitched.

Stiles got the toast started, chuckling a little when he heard Erica shout at Derek for waking them up. 

There was an ominous thump that made him snicker. 

When Isaac and Boyd stumbled blearily to the kitchen, Stiles had finished the bacon and at least some toast. 

“Make plates,” he said. 

Boyd frowned. “You shouldn’t have cooked. You should be resting.” 

“I feel better. We may not heal instantly, but we humans are pretty resilient.” He nudged Boyd with a plate, smiling.

“If you say so.” He took the plate. “Thanks.”

Isaac just bumped against Stiles’s shoulder gently and took a plate.

Derek took a plate to the basement, where Deaton was monitoring the family. 

Stiles ate at the table with everyone else. His head started pounding halfway through the meal. He figured he should have expected it, considering the gash and the bruise. He’d just hoped it could wait a few hours or…days, maybe.

He pushed his plate toward Erica, who didn’t argue. 

“Be right back,” he mumbled. 

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, concerned. 

“Yeah. Just getting the ibuprofen for my head.”

“There’s aspirin in the bathroom cabinet by your room. For Aunt Laini,” Derek added. “Isn’t ibuprofen bad for your stomach?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll switch off, then. Thanks.”

After he took the aspirins—the recommended dosage on the bottle—he checked his phone. Scott had texted to tell Stiles he was coming by later to check in. Stiles replied on his way back to the dining room. 

He figured once the aspirin kicked in, he could read at least a few pages. 

“I’ll clean up in the kitchen,” Isaac said, picking up plates and stalking to the kitchen. 

Derek sighed and got up to follow him; Boyd and Erica both sat back down instantly. 

“What do you want to do today?” Erica asked, leaning toward Stiles. 

He shrugged. “Scott’s coming by in a few hours to check in, maybe drop some stuff off. Until then, I don’t really care.” 

Erica and Boyd shared a look—somewhat worried, it seemed—before looking back at him. 

“We could all go outside,” Boyd suggested. “For fresh air and…whatever.” 

Stiles glanced at the kitchen. “Yeah, okay. Let me go get my book, I’ll meet you guys out there.”

“Okay.”

They bolted, which made Stiles hesitant about going into the kitchen. He hoped Isaac and Derek weren’t arguing. 

With a little grunt, he got up and waited until his vision cleared before squaring his shoulders and walking in.

Isaac was standing beside Derek at the sink; they seemed to be okay, silent as they washed the dishes together. 

“We’re just gonna be outside,” Stiles said awkwardly. “Whenever you guys want to join us.”

Isaac looked over his shoulder and smiled a little. “Okay.” 

Stiles nodded and grabbed the book. He retreated as fast as he could. He wasn’t sure if things were resolved or if they’d stopped for his sake—or if they hadn’t even talked yet—so he just made his way out of the house hastily. 

“We’re gonna play catch while you read,” Erica said when he rounded the house to the backyard. “Unless you want to join us?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Nope. I’m going to read.”

“Your eyes are going to dry up and fall out of your head,” Erica sneered. 

“You are going to make a strange parent if you ever decide to have children,” Stiles declared. “Go play. Maybe I’ll join you later.” He sat back against the house, bringing his knees up to balance the book on. 

He’d just started on _Beauty and the Beast_ , which wasn’t much like the Disney version. That thought reminded him, he’d seen a movie copy of _Beauty and the Beast_ in the pile of movies. Maybe later they could watch it.

_There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three sons, and three daughters; being a man of sense, he spared no cost for their education, but gave them all kinds of masters. His daughters were extremely handsome, especially the youngest. When she was little everybody admired her, and called her "The little Beauty;" so that, as she grew up, she still went by the name of Beauty, which made her sisters very jealous._

_The youngest, as she was handsomer, was also better than her sisters. The two eldest had a great deal of pride, because they were rich. They gave themselves ridiculous airs, and would not visit other merchants' daughters, nor keep company with any but persons of quality. They went out every day to parties of pleasure, balls, plays, concerts, and so forth, and they laughed at their youngest sister, because she spent the greatest part of her time in reading good books._

He found himself skimming, as reading the tiny script was making his head throb. He sighed and wondered what he could possibly find in this story, considering skipping it. 

He started flipping pages, looking for the next story. The book slammed shut on his fingers, making him yelp.

“What the hell, man?!” he snapped. “I’ve been reading! I was _just_ reading. What, you don’t want me to skip any?”

“Hey, Stiles, maybe you should take a break,” Erica called. 

He looked up. Derek and Isaac had come out at some point. All of them were staring at Stiles with mingled concern and amusement. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He set the book down and got up, brushing his pants off. Before he could start walking, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Scott had texted, ‘ **Hey, I’m at the line.** ’

He answered that he’d be there in a second, pocketing the phone and starting toward them.

It was weird, how the pack all went still at once, especially because he’d thought they were being still in the first place.

“Guys, what—”

Erica gasped and started running at the same time as Isaac and Derek; Boyd darted to Stiles’s side. 

“Scott is here—he’s calling for you and running. C’mon.” He tugged on Stiles’s arm to get him moving.

They were still running, trying to catch up, when Derek roared, “ _Kate!_ ” so furiously that even Stiles heard it, despite how far away they were. 

They found Isaac and Scott in the trees a minute later. Scott was sitting on the ground, sucking on his inhaler and waving Isaac back. 

Isaac looked nervous, hovering. 

Stiles sprinted to Scott, dropping to his knees beside him. “Dude, what happened? Are you okay?”

Boyd and Isaac both took off running toward the line, but Stiles was too busy getting hysterical over Scott to ask where they were going. 

Scott took the inhaler out and waited a second before exhaling slowly. “Got here. Texted you. There was a woman here.” He took a deep, even breath, held a finger up. He let it out again. “She was sort of wandering around smiling, like she didn’t know about the Hale property, and I’ve never seen her before, so I was sort of warning her not to get too close. I said that people are supposed to stay on the marked paths, you know, and she made some comment about me not being on one, so I offered to walk her back.”

Stiles sighed. “Of course you did.”

Scott shrugged unashamedly. “Anyway, she just laughed and got sort of close and flicked her fingers at me—she pushed me over the line with magic.” 

“Wait,” Stiles said, suddenly remembering. “What did Derek yell? Kate? Oh my god.” He lurched to his feet, then hesitated, glancing between Scott and the way ahead, torn.

Scott made a face. “Go. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll just get lost.”

Stiles was still hesitant to leave him alone, until he heard Boyd and Isaac’s raised voices. “I’ll be back.” He ran toward the noise. 

By the time he reached them, they were all quiet again; Erica and Derek still looked furious. Boyd and Isaac looked wary and shocked. 

“What’s going on?”

Boyd pointed wordlessly at the ground, the property line.

“They tried getting at Kate and they almost made it over,” Isaac said quietly. 

Stiles looked down; he could see scuff marks that easily could have been made by Erica’s shoes and Derek’s foot—on both sides of the line.

“You _saw_ Kate Argent? She’s definitely here?”

“Yes,” Derek growled. “And she ran like a _coward!_ ” he shouted toward the trees beyond the line. “When I almost made it over,” he added when he saw Stiles looking confused. 

“That…sounds like the curse is breaking,” Stiles said. “But…we haven’t tried anything.” He shook his head, baffled. “Where did she go?”

“She ran through the trees,” Erica snapped, flapping her hand angrily. “That way.”

“We should all go back to the house,” Stiles decided. He wasn’t sure what would help, but he knew standing at the line, fuming, wouldn’t. “Scott needs somewhere to rest—she pushed him and he came running and let me tell you, if you think I’m bad when I run, Scott is worse.”

They all looked at Derek, who was looking at Stiles. 

Stiles stepped toward him. “I know it’s upsetting, with her so close, maybe watching. But I’m going to ask Deputy Parrish and my dad to look for her and try to detain her.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. “You’re right. Come on, let’s go get Scott.” 

As bothered as Derek was by Kate’s appearance, he didn’t seem to care about Scott seeing his face. Scott being, well, Scott, was stroking the head of a bird perched on his knee when they found him, and didn’t bat an eye when he saw Derek.

Erica looked outraged at the very sight of him. “How? The bird? How?”

“I told you he’s basically a Disney princess. Animals love Scott.” Stiles held his hand out to help him up; the bird flew to a nearby tree.

Scott’s palms were scraped up, probably from falling when he got pushed. “Yeah, if we stay out here too long, there will be more,” he said in a casual, pragmatic way that came from twenty years of experience of having birds follow him. 

Stiles had even seen the best behaved dogs drag their owners across the road just to get a hello pat from Scott. Even cats showed him affection. 

Stiles let the others walk ahead of him, hanging back so he could walk beside Derek. “You okay?” he mouthed. 

Derek jerked his shoulders noncommittally. “Sometimes the thought of her being close makes me sick or afraid, but _seeing_ her…it just made me angry.” 

Stiles nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “Did she look scared?”

“No, not at first. She looked smug when I first got there. I think that’s just her resting face, though, so who knows.” He rubbed at his hair. “When I got to the line and got over it, a little, she got angry and scared.” 

“We must be doing something right,” Stiles decided. “Something we’re doing is weakening the curse.”

“Okay, but what?”

Stiles set his hand on his arm and felt his bunched muscles relax. “We’re getting close. That’s all we should focus on for now. That and—well, damn, Scott’s stuck now!”

Derek’s expression flipped from frustrated to confused. “Yes?”

“Mrs. McCall is going to start forgetting about him.” Stiles scrubbed his face and hissed when he grazed the bruise. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. I just have to make some calls when we get to the house.” 

Isaac and Scott went up the steps to the house together, leaving the door open. They all crowded in the foyer. 

“You guys should watch a movie or something while I call everyone,” Stiles said, checking his phone. “Scott should sit for a while.”

“Stiles, I’m fine. I just needed the inhaler to loosen things up a bit.” He held his hands up when Stiles glowered at him. “But I can be fine and take it easy at the same time.” 

“Good idea. I’ll be done soon.” He followed them into the house but split off to his own room while everyone herded Scott to the living room. 

He called Mrs. McCall first. “Scott’s okay and so am I, but Kate Argent pushed him over the line,” he blurted. 

Three beats of silence followed this. “Explain. Clearly,” she said. 

He did, starting with finding the Hales in the basement and ending with Derek and Erica almost making it over the line. 

“You’d better let me tell John,” she said when he’d finished. “He’s doing okay, but he knows he’s forgetting big chunks of your life and it’s upsetting him. You call Parrish.”

“Alright. Thanks, Melissa.”

“Be careful, kid. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

He called Deputy Parrish next. He didn’t particularly want to, but he did need help, and he needed someone to watch out for his father while searching for Kate. 

“Stiles?” he answered warily.

“The woman who laid the Hale curse-”

“Kate Argent. Lydia filled us in. What’s going on?”

“She pushed Scott over the property line. I was hoping you guys could arrest her for…something.” 

“We can’t exactly fill out paperwork for curses,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, but magic doesn’t work in the station. If you could just put her in holding, maybe I would have time to do…something.” Stiles paced the room. “Oh! She did try to kill the Hale family! Without magic!...Eight years ago.” 

“Before the curse?”

“Yeah, a failed arson attempt before she got the magic and cursed them.” 

“Ah…I guess that’s good enough. If we can even find her. Sorceresses aren’t known to wait around for arrest.”

“I know; I just ask that you try.” 

“Sure,” he sighed. “We can try.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles updated Lydia next—he definitely considered Scott and Argent an emergency. 

She didn’t snarl at him for calling—she just pressed for all of the details and hung up to do more research. 

His father texted him a second later. **Looking for Argent. Will keep you posted.**

**Thanks.**

He groaned and rubbed his face. This would be easier if he understood what had changed, what had weakened the curse. If it was _crumbling_ , what had started it?

He snorted and marched toward the living room. 

Apparently, Scott’s aura of awesome affected even werewolves, because the betas seemed to have taken an instant liking to him. 

Derek had distanced himself, it seemed, leaning against the doorframe and watching them play. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Scott’s…odd,” he said slowly. 

“Scott’s awesome,” Stiles argued. “What’s your problem?”

Derek faced him. “I didn’t mean to insult him. I meant something is _literally_ odd about him. He’s human, but something is…odd,” he settled on with a sigh. “Never mind, I’m probably imagining things. How did your calls go?”

“Well, the cavalry is on the lookout for Icky Kate, Lydia’s trying to see what we’ve done to weaken the curse, and Scott is charming the pack.” 

“Yes.” Derek frowned. “Erica, get off him,” he snapped, making her scramble hastily off Scott’s back. “Could hear him wheezing,” he mumbled awkwardly. “I’m going to tell Deaton what happened.” 

Stiles watched him leave, bemused. He found Scott watching him with an annoyingly knowing expression when he finally looked away. 

“What?” he demanded.

“Oh, nothing.” Scott beamed at him.

“Psh, whatever. Let’s watch a movie, guys.” 

“What movie?” Isaac asked instantly, sitting up.

“ _Beauty and the Beast,,_ ” he replied. Since he’d been wanting to watch it, he figured he’d might as well make the rest of them watch it with him. 

Erica snickered. “Why? We get to see the live-action version every day.”

“Huh? Oh, very funny. Put the movie on,” he grumbled. 

It wasn’t until much later, when he was getting out of the shower, that he really thought about what Erica had said, and how much sense it made.

The book was on the bathroom counter, open to the page in _Beauty and the Beast_ that he’d stopped on.

“But—” He scowled at the book. “Even if it’s based on that—that story, how does that help? I’ve tried roses, and that’s the only thing…” He shook his head and pulled his pajamas on, ignoring the book. Tomorrow would be soon enough to read it, considering he had no clue how it was helpful.

The others had gone off to bed. Deaton had come up a few hours ago to get dinner for himself and Derek and returned to the basement, but other than that, they’d stayed down there.

Scott was staying in Stiles’s room for the night. As upset as he was that Scott had been forced over the line, he’d missed him and was glad for the opportunity to see him.

“So,” Scott said as soon as he stepped into the room, “Derek.” He grinned. 

Stiles turned on his heel and started to walk back out.

“Dude! Come on. It’s not like it isn’t right in our faces.” 

Stiles slammed the door and scowled at him. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

Scott bounced in place slightly, rocking the bed. “Um, the fact that you’re in love with Derek _Hale_ ,” he said cheerily. 

Stiles actually took a step back, absorbing the force of the words and his tripping heart. “I—you’re— _wrong_ ,” he stammered. A sweat broke over the back of his neck. “In love—? Derek?”

Scott looked concerned. “Well, yeah. I mean, maybe not Big L love yet, but it’s something to build on.” 

“Why—why would I be-? How—?” Stiles closed his mouth. Nothing coming out made sense. He settled for crossing his arms defensively. 

“I don’t think love usually has an answer to the question _why_ ,” Scott replied thoughtfully. “And if you’re asking me _how_ I knew, then you must think my asthma has left me half-blind. Dude, you looked at Jordan like that for a month before you guys started dating. Little L love is good, too,” he insisted. “You’re in Little L love with Derek.”

“Jordan cheated on me with a sorceress, who then cursed him when she found out he was already in a relationship. A curse, remember, that I had to break for him, after being _crushed_ to find out that he was cheating on me in the first place. Little L love hasn’t worked out for me…ever,” he muttered. 

“One person doesn’t mean it’s always going to be bad,” Scott said.

“Lydia.”

“You had a _crush_ on Lydia, because you thought she was pretty.” Scott shrugged when he scowled at him. “Teenagers, dude.”

“So, what? What am I supposed to do?” Stiles snapped. “This is—you’re wrong.”

Scott held his hands up. “Okay, if you say so.” He looked around and yawned theatrically. “Man, I’m tired. Your pack sure does have a lot of energy. I think it’s bed time.”

Stiles made a face at him and slapped the light off. “Yeah, whatever.” He climbed into his side of the bed. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I know.”

“You’re still wrong.”

Scott just hummed and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. 

Stiles stared at the ceiling. Scott was wrong……wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been brought to my attention that possibly the reason I can keep up with /so many/ original Hale characters is because I have an enormous family with tons of cousins and siblings running around (we are legion and there's at least a small group of us in each state except maybe Alaska and that's up in the air too) so that is something I will have to keep in mind when I am writing. OTL


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, gosh, here we are, almost the last chapter! Please don't kill me because of the pacing. I tried, it sucks, I'll do better next time. OTL I just couldn't think of a better way to do this!!! X(

Stiles couldn’t sleep. He tried to, he did, but all he could think about was what Scott had said. He didn’t understand how Scott could think—He rolled out of bed and crept out of the room, leaving Scott sleeping. 

The very idea, he realized, set his stomach fluttering, which made him nervous. That was probably a bad sign.

Whether Scott was right or wrong (he was wrong) (or maybe not?), they were still trapped and Derek was still cursed, so it wasn’t the time to think about it. 

He fretted his way to the kitchen. There was still ice cream in the freezer and he desperately wanted some. He didn’t even care what flavor it was. 

He opened the freezer and found the gallon of strawberry ice cream on the door. He grabbed it and considered scooping some into a bowl for himself, then decided _fuck it_ and took the whole container, stopping at the drawer beside the doorway to get a spoon. 

He jumped when he saw Derek sitting at the table; his heart continued to pound irregularly even after the shock had worn off. “Oh, hey. Did I wake you up? I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I was just…having trouble sleeping. Thinking about Scott and…everything.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve been awake. I heard you come in here, so I thought I’d just take a break.”

Stiles leaned back into the kitchen to grab another spoon and took them to the table. He sat in the chair beside Derek and set the ice cream between them on the table. “A break from what?” he asked carefully. He picked up his own spoon and scooped up a mouthful. 

“We’ve been watching the family. My…Deaton told me.” He positively beamed at Stiles. “Their pulses have been extremely slow for years, but today when he checked they were—not normal, but faster than what they’ve been for eight years.” 

“That’s—that’s great,” Stiles stammered, trying to hide the fact that Derek’s dumb, beaming werewolfy face had Stiles’s heart leaping out of his chest to splat at Derek’s feet. He shoveled more ice cream into his mouth. 

“You’re right,” Derek said excitedly, noticing nothing. “The curse _is_ breaking. I can’t figure out what you did, or we did—or are doing, I don’t know but it’s _working_.” He took a cheerful bite of ice cream, his fangs scraping over the spoon. 

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but he reached out and laid his hand over the one Derek had on the table. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? We’re so close. I promise.” 

Derek turned his hand over and squeezed Stiles’s fingers. “I know. I trust you.” 

Stiles smiled, his already mush heart turning over. “Good, I-” He choked on his own tongue.

Derek’s eyes had changed from red to a blue-green hazel color, and they hadn’t gone back. “Are you okay, Stiles?” he asked worriedly.

Stiles nodded, keeping his gaze locked on Derek’s eyes. “Your eyes…are…not red.” 

Derek blinked a couple of times, but his eyes stayed human. 

“What’s doing it?” Stiles demanded. “We’re breaking the curse by…talking?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Weird.” Stiles took another bite of the rapidly melting ice cream. “I guess I should put this away.” He sighed. 

“I’ll do it. Do you want anything else?” Derek asked, standing up. 

“A cup of water, please. Thanks.” 

Derek smiled before taking the ice cream and spoons to the kitchen.

Stiles leaned his chin on his hand, closing his eyes.

So, maybe Scott was right. A little bit. _Maybe._

He sighed and glanced to his left, then sighed louder. 

As usual, the _Faery Tales_ book had followed him and was sitting on the other side of the table, open to the last page Stiles had read. 

Derek returned with the cup of water and frowned at the book. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he said tiredly. “It came to me.” He took the cup and said, “Thanks,” before taking a long drink from it.

Derek continued to frown at the book. “What story are you on?” he asked at last, sitting down.

“Oh, _Beauty and the Beast_.” He set the cup down and rubbed his eye. “I haven’t finished it yet. The writing is giving me a headache lately.” 

“Yeah, it’s…small. I wonder why it’s following you.” 

“Something wants me to read it. No clue.” Stiles made circles on the table with his cup. “Erica commented that your curse is sort of like _Beauty and the Beast_ , so maybe the book thinks it’s helping.”

Derek snorted. “How? We tried all sorts of flowers. Isn’t that the main theme? The rose?”

Stiles held his hand out. “No idea.” He chanced a glance at Derek’s eyes, which were still pretty human. His heart tripped helplessly.

“Are you okay? Your heart rate keeps speeding up.” He looked concerned. 

Stiles laughed weakly and shook his head. “I’m fine.” He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Guess I’m getting tired though. My eyes are starting to hurt a little.” 

Derek nodded, but he looked worried. He started to say something, but instead took a deep breath through his nose and jerked to his feet.

“What?”

“I smell smoke,” he growled. He stood up and ran for the door.

Stiles gasped, then jumped up to follow him; he paused only to grab his shoes and shove his feet into them.

Derek was at the front door already, pulling it open violently.

Stiles started to follow him onto the porch, but something shattered somewhere behind him—he turned on his heel, startled. 

He looked back over his shoulder, where Derek had run out the front door, but the scent of smoke and burning wood spurred him toward the living room. If Derek was outside, he was okay.

The smell of smoke became worse the closer he got to the living room. He almost ran past the room in his haste and had to grab the doorframe to steady himself when his momentum almost sent him sailing past anyway.

A thick, flaming branch had been thrown through the window. The carpet had caught; the flames were crawling over the furniture and the walls far too quickly to be natural. 

Stiles pulled his shirt over his face and stepped into the room to get a better look at the branch. Poisonous blue symbols glowed beneath the flames. 

He jerked back when more glass shattered, deeper within the house. Smoke clogged the halls. 

“Get up!” he yelled, amazed at the volume he managed. He finally tore his gaze from the flames and started yelling as he ran down the hall. “Everyone get up! Wake up!” As he ran from the living room, flames followed him, so close he could feel the heat on them through his sweatpants. 

He pounded on doors as he ran, swearing under his breath because he didn’t even know which rooms they normally slept in. 

“Erica! Isaac, Boyd! Get up, get out of the house!” he shouted. He reached Deaton’s room but found it empty aside from a busted window and another flaming branch. “Deaton! Scott—oh, shit, Scott!” He turned and bolted for his room, choking as the smoke thickened. 

Scott was already awake and out of the room, running from the foyer _back in_ for Stiles. He had a shirt tied around his face and his eyes were bloodshot and streaming. “They’re stuck!” 

“Who? Where?”

“The pack! Isaac and—something’s keeping them stuck on the porch!” Scott grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the door. 

Stiles knew they should be down low, as the smoke was stinging their eyes and making them dizzy, but the door was right there. 

Scott started coughing violently, bent double. 

“Where’s your inhaler?” Stiles demanded. He reached the front door and threw it open.

He shoved Scott out first and discovered the rest of the pack barely a foot away from the porch, pressing up against some sort of force field.

“We can’t get away from the house!” Erica shouted. “Something’s blocking us!” 

Stiles helped Scott down the steps. “Has anyone seen Deaton?” he demanded. 

Derek’s head snapped up. “He’s in the basement! Everyone’s in the basement!”

“Derek, don’t-” Boyd tried, but he’d already run back into the house. 

The front yard was illuminated with the flames, and Stiles saw a thick line of black ash at the bottom of the steps, circling the house. 

“Scott! I know you’re struggling, but I need your help.” 

Scott nodded, wheezing too hard to answer. 

“Get your inhaler out!” Stiles pointed at the ash. “And while you’re at it, use your foot to break that up. I think it’s something magic—it’s got to be keeping them trapped.” 

Scott nodded again and pulled his inhaler out of his pocket, shaking it. Stiles stepped a few feet away and started kicking at the ash. It broke up easily enough, which encouraged him.

By the time they’d broken up all of the ash in the front of the house, Deaton and Derek were dragging a few kids out of the house.

Isaac took the little girl from Deaton, who, relieved of his burden, bent over his knees and started choking. Erica and Boyd took the two Derek was carrying. He bolted back inside immediately. 

Deaton, still coughing, left the porch for the yard while the betas set the children in the grass away from the smoke unhindered. Whatever the ash was, it had been blocking them in, as Stiles had suspected.

“He still needs help,” Erica declared and ran into the house.

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac said quietly. He was gazing at the house with a sort of hopelessness. “We’re still stuck here. The fire’s going to spread and we’re all trapped here.”

“No. We’ll be fine. Just—get Deaton and Scott kicking up the ash and—Boyd, come with me.” 

Boyd caught Stiles’s arm. “You can’t go in there. You’ll get hurt!”

“There are still nine people in there,” he said, and shook him off. 

The fire had spread to the dining room and front hall, the heat so intense that Stiles nearly couldn’t make himself step in. 

“Just go back outside!” Boyd shouted over the crackle and roar of the flames. “You can’t heal from burns!”

“You guys need help!” he insisted, choking between words. Before Boyd could argue again, he ran for the dining room.

Derek or Erica had kicked the burned legs out from under the heavy dining table and used it to make a bridge through the flames—Stiles ran across it.

Derek was already coming back up—there was a young man on his back and a teenage girl in his arms. 

Erica was carrying a woman with copper hair to match the little girl Stiles had first seen.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted. “You have to get out!” 

Too breathless to speak, he just shook his head and ran down the stairs past them.

There was little smoke and no fire in the basement, but it was only a matter of time. Stiles bolted to the first occupied bed and pulled the girl up. She was neither pale nor cold, and when he tugged her to her feet, despite her closed eyes, she struggled feebly to help him.

The curse was almost broken.

He put her arm around his shoulder and started walking. She was slim but surprisingly heavy, like there was a lot of muscle packed into her slight frame. 

Boyd came down and saw him, shaking his head.

“Let me get her-”

“No—just get the others. From the looks of it, she’s the smallest,” he rasped. 

“Fine. Be careful.” 

It was a painstaking process, dragging an unconscious werewolf up a staircase. He wished he could get her on his back, but he wasn’t strong enough to get her there by himself and he feared he would collapse if he stopped now. 

Boyd joined him when he was halfway up. He had a dark haired woman over his shoulder and took the girl’s other arm to help get her up the stairs.

Something popped loudly in the kitchen when they got to the dining room; the table was still in one piece, but only just, bubbles popping up in the surface treatment. 

Derek grabbed the girl from them. “Stiles, get outside! You’re going to get burned!” 

Stiles barely saw his face—over his shoulder, there were pictures on the wall, in what were once empty frames. 

“Stiles, come on!” Boyd urged.

He darted around Derek and grabbed all three pictures and ran for the door. He had to leap over some crawling flames and felt a line of heat lick up his right leg, but he kept running for the door. 

Outside, Isaac tackled him, sending the pictures flying out of his arms.

“Your pants are on fire!” he snapped when Stiles tried fighting him.

As he patted Stiles down, Erica came out carrying a blond man while Derek and Boyd ran back in.

Stiles got up on his knees, hacking and choking while his stinging eyes watered all down his face. “Scott,” he rasped. “Where’s Scott? He can’t be so close to the smoke.” 

“We know. He’s got your phone—he and Deaton are calling for help.” 

Erica and Derek reemerged from the house with the last three Hales, choking and sputtering as flames began to engulf the porch. 

Derek set a man who looked vaguely familiar in the grass beside Stiles and turned to him. “You idiot! You could have died! What’s wrong with you?!”

Stiles couldn’t answer—through his streaming, burning eyes, all he could see was Derek’s sooty, burned face, and it was so, so human. He started laughing and coughing.

“What?”

“Derek—your face!” Isaac gasped.

Derek frowned and brought his hands up, running them over his cheeks and ears.

Before he could even start to process his human face, a woman’s voice cracked across the yard, over the sound of the fire. “You guys just won’t die!”

Derek shot to his feet, snarling, “ _Kate._ ” 

Stiles got up, too, eyeing her warily. His right leg felt burned. “Wasn’t the fire good enough?” he croaked, limping closer to Derek.

“Obviously not,” she said in disgust, kicking the prone body nearest her. “I thought lonely little Derek would have made all of you werewolves—I didn’t think there were humans left.”

“Surprise,” Stiles said dryly.

Around the yard, the Hale family was stirring; little twitches and coughs, shaking heads and clearing throats. 

“It’s annoying. I really never thought this curse would break. You see,” she said lightly, “Derek would have to trust someone _completely_ to break the curse. But not just that! Someone would _also_ have to fall in love with Derek _as he was_. So basically, Derek is still a fool and you,” she laughed, “you’re just sick.” 

“I-” Stiles began, his throat closing.

“Don’t listen to her,” Derek growled. His eyes lit up gold rather than red for some reason, though his face remained human. “She’s a liar.”

Kate kept talking. “You fell in _love_ with a monster—and with how he looked? Something’s got to be wrong with you,” she chortled. With faux concern, she asked, “Are you into _animals_ , sweetheart? You should see someone about that.” 

“Okay, he’s a person, not an animal,” Stiles snapped. “And falling in love with someone isn’t about how they look, okay? He’s sweet and shy and—fuck you!” he spat when Kate just continued to laugh.

“Okay, okay, whatever, you’re making me nauseous.” She turned her smug gaze toward Derek. “And you. Didn’t you learn anything from me? Trusting people is _stupid_. Your family was alive, before.” She shrugged. “Not very lively, but technically alive. And now, because you trusted _him_ and broke the curse, I’m going to kill them.” 

“Do you think so?” Derek asked softly. 

Kate just laughed. It was a hideously grating sound. “Yes, I do. Have you learned nothing?” she repeated. “ _You_ are nothing. You’re weak and stupid. And a monster, that’s the important part. And because of that, everyone in this clearing has to die. Because of _you_. Good job,” she said cheerfully, giving him a slow clap.

Derek was shaking his head, but Stiles could see the hurt and guilt in his eyes, his belief in every lie she spewed. 

Sirens screamed in the distance—Scott must have called the fire department. If the curse was broken, it was safe for them to come help.

“But you, Derek, you I’ll let live. Sort of. This time, _you_ can have the eternal nap. And nothing will break it.” She smiled. 

Stiles was already running when she lifted her hands; the curse shot like green fire through the air. It slashed across Stiles’s chest like a molten sword. He crumbled to the ground in a broken heap, gasping even as both Kate and Derek yelled, “No!”

Stiles lifted his streaming eyes to Kate, confused, and watched as blue writing scrawled all over her skin, glowing so bright it hurt, before the words shattered. 

Kate screamed. A booming voice said, “The contract has been breached.” 

“No! It was an accident! No!” she screamed. Her skin began to bubble and melt like a mannequin set too close to a flame.

Stiles drew in a little hitching gasp, but it didn’t help. His vision was jerky, black sparks popping in front of his eyes. He was going to faint soon. 

All around him, Hales were waking up and crying out in shock as their house burned.

“Stiles, you idiot,” Derek gasped. His gaze had been on Kate as she writhed and burned until he remembered Stiles. He dropped to his knees. “You have to—why did you—?”

Stiles smiled vaguely at him and muttered, “Cats tongues,” and promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol when Stiles said "cats tongues" he was trying to say "cat got your tongue?" because I'm a nerd I felt the need to tell you that.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh here's the final chapter of this one! I'm sorry about the quick pacing, but I truly couldn't figure out another way to do it. So, I hope you enjoy it despite that, and I hope you let me know!
> 
> Thanks so much for everyone leaving me comments--they make me soooooo happy you don't even know. I'll see you when I have ten chapters of the sequel done! :D

Stiles’s first words upon waking should have been, “Holy god, my chest hurts, get it off!” as it felt like someone had placed a cinderblock on his chest and forgotten about it.

What came out was “Hnruh mmf,” because his mouth was painfully dry, his throat felt scorched, and his lungs would not support that many words besides.

“Unng,” he groaned when he opened his eyes. He closed them before anything he saw could register. They still stung from the smoke. He reached for his face and scratched at the tubes leading to his nose, tried to pull at them.

“Stiles.” Rapid footsteps tapped from across the room to his side. “You say something kid?” He pulled Stiles’s hand from the oxygen tubes.

“Dad,” he rasped, and pried his eyes open. They watered and stung, but he kept looking at his father’s face. “You okay?”

John laughed, running his hands down his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Tired and worried, but okay.” He grabbed a cup from the side table. “Thirsty?”

Stiles nodded and tried to sit up quickly.

John braced his hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Just relax, son. Let me sit the bed up.”

The bed moved painfully slow. Stiles watched the cup the whole time it was moving. When it had him sitting up, he grimaced, because it felt like the pressure on his chest had increased.

He forgot about it when John put the straw to his lips. He sucked down the warm water as quickly as he could, choking and sputtering a little as it ran over his sore tongue and throat.

“Okay, that’s enough, slow down.” John pulled the cup away. 

Licking his lips to catch any escaped drops, Stiles looked around finally. The hospital room had a TV mounted on the wall, which was playing some daytime soap opera, and a couple of chairs spread throughout the room. 

“So…what happened?” he asked. His voice sounded like someone had run his larynx through a meat grinder. 

“Oh, well. Scott called 911 and we gathered everyone who volunteered to go over the line to help and got there as fast as we could. But,” John sighed and took a seat on the chair closest to Stiles’s bed. “By the time we got there, the curse line was gone and all of the Hales were there. Scott and Dr. Deaton filled us in a bit—Kate Argent set the fire and tried to curse Derek Hale…again.”

“Right…” Stiles’s brow furrowed. “But I…” He looked down at his chest and saw nothing but his hospital gown. 

“You took the curse instead,” John sighed. “The truth is, kid, none of us were sure you were going to wake up at all. Derek and Scott both heard Argent say she was casting a sleeping curse.” 

“Huh.” Stiles made the mistake of glancing down at his arm, where the IV needle was. He grimaced and looked away. “So…how long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

“And you…remember me…pretty well, right?” he asked hesitantly. 

John held out the cup of water for him again, which he took. “Yes. All of the families remember. Lydia thinks the curse was only thorough enough to make us forget while the curse was _active._ After it broke, we remembered again. Oh. Speaking of families.” He rubbed his face. “Yesterday, Deputy Marks had to arrest Roger Lahey for assault, because he and Isaac ran into each other at the grocery store. Words were exchanged,” he said shortly. “Lahey wasn’t as happy as the Reyes and Boyd families were when he got his memory back.” 

“He hit Isaac?” Stiles asked quietly. 

“He did, and since Deputy Marks was there and saw what happened, he took him in.”

“I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

“What about the Hales?” he asked hesitantly, pleating the blanket between his fingers.

“Talia Hale took charge once she got her feet under her. They’re all at a hotel at the edge of town—that Summer Meadows Inn or whatever—until they can figure out their living arrangements. The second floor had much less damage than the first, so some stuff may have survived the smoke and heat.” He sighed sadly. “Derek Hale has come by every five hours or so to check in, looking like a lost puppy.” John lifted his brows. 

Stiles smiled and looked down, his face flushing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sighed and shook his head. “Scott’s okay, too. He’s getting lung treatments every three hours and he’s on oxygen—so are you. His asthma affected it a bit. He’s getting better.”

“Jeeze.” Stiles rubbed his eyes and huffed. “Why does my _chest_ hurt?”

“That would be the smoke inhalation, kiddo. Well, that and…you might want to take a look,” John said, grimacing. 

Stiles had to pull one arm out of the gown and shove it down until his torso was exposed. 

A bright red mark slashed across his chest, spanning from his right collarbone down to the left side of his ribs. 

“What the shit…”

“That would be the curse mark that Kate Argent gave you.” 

He rubbed his palm over it, found it icy cold and smooth to the touch.

“Well, this sucks.” He sighed. “I wonder why it didn’t activate…”

“I would have to guess she died before she could finish it properly.” John shrugged. “But I don’t know much about curses.”

Stiles nodded, but he couldn’t keep looking at it, so he pulled his gown back on.

Someone knocked on the door then. John smirked a bit and cast an exaggerated glance at the wall clock before he got up to answer the door. 

“Mr. Hale. Good morning. I was starting to wonder if you weren’t coming today.”

“I—could leave?” His voice was softer than Stiles had ever heard it, and smoother.

John laughed. “No, come on in. He’s awake.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll just go get some coffee.” He clapped his hand on Derek’s shoulder and stepped around him.

Stiles leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Derek’s face, but he’d turned to watch John leave. Stiles huffed impatiently. 

Derek turned then, and offered a shy smile, ducking his head a little. He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, where his hair was cut short and neat. “My mom made me get it cut yesterday,” he said quietly.

It was the first time Stiles had seen his human face without it being covered in soot and dirt. He also seemed to be wearing clothes that fit, which made an enormous difference.

“It looks good.” Stiles smiled. “Hey there.”

“Hi. Are you feeling okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Kinda thirsty.” He lifted the cup to take a drink, grimacing when his IV tugged. “How are _you_ feeling?”

Derek shrugged and stepped further into the room. “I’m okay. My family…I thought they’d hate me,” he admitted softly. “But…they said they could hear me, when I was reading to them, and…everything else.”

“That’s great,” Stiles said. He sipped at his water, trying to pace himself.

“Yeah. I’m the oldest now,” Derek added. “They…haven’t aged. It’s strange. Laura says I’m still her little brother, but Simon is pissed that I’m over legal drinking age and he isn’t.”

Stiles chuckled, but only after Derek smiled. “I’m glad they’re okay.”

“Me too. Oh.” He glanced over his shoulder. “They, um, they all want to meet you.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked and scratched at his stupid tubes again. “Why?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “ _Why_? Because you-”

The door opened and he whipped around.

“I said to _wait_ ,” Derek sighed. 

“Okay, but you’re taking _forever,_ ” a young voice pointed out.

Derek grumbled and said, “Stiles, this is my sister, Cora.” 

She was supposed to be Stiles’s age, but she was still…twelve, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt that was slightly oversized and ratty sneakers. Her hair was cut severely at her shoulders. 

“Hey. So…you’re the guy that broke the curse.” She jerked her thumb at Derek. “He’s a dork but he’s really nice sometimes and he always sneaks you extra cake on your birthday just before midnight.”

“Oh, well, in that case, he’s worth at least eight camels for the cake alone.” 

Cora snickered and Derek just beamed. 

Cora’s laugh drew in the rest; Hales filled the room to the brim.

“Hello, Stiles,” Talia Hale said, stepping forward. She had three pictures in her hand; they didn’t have the frames anymore, but Stiles recognized them as the ones he’d stopped to grab. “I wanted to thank you for saving my family. Derek told me—and I heard, we all heard, you coming back into a burning house to get us.” She stepped forward and dropped a light kiss on his forehead. “And in the midst of that, you also stopped to grab our pictures.”

He smiled, his face flushing. “Well, you know, pictures are important.” 

A slim, smug looking blond man stepped forward then, elbowing Talia lightly; she scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Peter Hale,” he said. “And what _took you_ so long to figure out the curse? I only hit you over the head with the story that the curse was based on half a million times.”

“That was _you?_ ” Stiles and Derek demanded in unison.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes. Derek, I’m disappointed in you. All those books I gave you and you never considered that I would find a way to detach from my body in eight years of cursed sleep?” He clicked his tongue. 

Stiles squeezed his cup indignantly. “Even when I read _Beauty and the Beast_ —it wouldn’t have helped! She said the curse couldn’t be broken until Derek trusted me _and_ until I lov-” he choked off. The blood drained from his face so fast that his eyes fluttered and he became dizzy. 

He and the Hales stared at each other; most of them were smirking. He had the errant thought that Erica was going to fit right in.

“Now that this is sufficiently awkward—I’m Laini, by the way—why don’t I take the kiddos out for brunch?” the redhead in the back said, hooking her arm around the neck of a man who looked like a well-balanced mix of Talia and Peter. 

“Good idea,” he said, and picked up a small girl with copper hair. “Em, Mikaela, let’s move out.” 

The little girl waved at Stiles cheerfully over her father’s shoulder.

“Mom, I’m going with Uncle Ethan,” Cora said over her shoulder.

“Take Casey,” Talia replied. “And Peter.”

Peter made a face at her and swung a ten-year-old—Casey, maybe—up onto his shoulders, making her shriek with laughter. 

“Now that’s a little better.” Talia shook her head. “Stiles, I wanted to let you know—whatever you need, whenever, you have our pack’s support.” 

“Oh. Thank you,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Especially with that curse on you. The one you took for Derek,” a man—Derek’s father, probably—said, stepping up to Talia’s side. “But I guess you don’t need much help with curses, since you broke ours.” He smirked.

“Ha, yeah.” He felt incredibly exposed, meeting Derek’s family wearing a gown and a blanket, with tubes connected to his arm and face. 

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Okay, you guys have gawked enough. Quit staring. You can talk to him when he’s released.”

Talia snickered and kissed Derek’s face all over; he didn’t complain. 

“Wait,” Stiles said when they turned toward the door. “What’s—going on with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac?”

“Oh, well, Erica and Boyd’s families were extremely happy to remember them. They’re having dinner with us, and staying with their parents until we get our living arrangements in order. I’ve made it clear that they are obviously a part of our pack still, and they’ve asked to stay. Isaac is staying with us in the hotel in the meantime.” Her lips pressed flat.

“We’re telling him he should press charges against Roger Lahey, despite the black eye having healed,” Mr. Hale said cheerily. “But it doesn’t matter if he does or not. Lahey swung at Deputy Marks when he cuffed him, so he’s going away.” 

“Good.” 

Derek shuffled closer to the bed, casting beseeching looks at his parents.

A dark haired woman sighed deeply and hooked her chin over Talia’s shoulder. “Let’s go have brunch with Aunt Laini and them, so Derek can angst all over Stiles.”

“Shut up, Laura,” Derek muttered. 

The last man in the room—presumably Simon, the eighteen-year-old brother—tugged Laura’s hair from behind and winked at Derek when she turned her attention on him. 

“We really should go, Dom,” Talia said. “The sheriff is waiting in the hall to talk to us. I’m glad to have spoken to you finally, Stiles. We should all have dinner together soon.”

“Yes. You too.”

Laura narrowed her eyes at him, staring him down until Simon grabbed her shoulder and yanked her off balance. “He’s cute, bro. Make your move!” she called over her shoulder, letting out a sharp bark of laughter when Derek hissed at her as Simon dragged her out. 

“Maybe we should have left them sleeping,” he muttered. His ears were red.

“Are you kidding? They’re great!” Stiles sighed wistfully. 

Derek gave him a confused smile, which faded after a second. He approached the bed in measured steps.

Stiles said, “Your smile before was cute, but I _really_ like it now.” He blinked. “Why am I saying this?”

“You have painkillers in your system. You have minor burns on your leg.” Derek’s brows furrowed. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said seriously.

Stiles’s heart squeezed with nerves. “Okay…”

“Will you go on a date with me? After you’re released, obviously.”

Stiles’s jaw dropped.

Derek rushed to say, “I understand if you don’t want to, it’s just—I just—I like you a lot and I thought, you know, if you…felt the same—or if—I heard you say…” He closed his mouth and eyes and just stood there, face flushing more with every second of silence that passed. 

“You heard how the curse broke,” Stiles said quietly. “Yes, I’d like it if we went out after I get out of here. Maybe dinner or something.” 

Derek’s eyes popped open. “Really? I mean—great! Dinner or something.” 

John reentered the room then. “Oh, you can have dinner with us on Wednesday, Derek. Stiles will be released on Tuesday, so that should give him time to relax when he gets home.” He smiled at Derek. 

“Um…that’d be good. Okay.” Derek shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed. 

“Good. See you there, son. Your mom’s waiting for you by the elevator.” He continued smiling as Derek waved and left. “Nice kid,” he said thoughtfully. “Big family.” 

“I noticed,” Stiles said. “It was nice to see them looking _alive_ though.” He grimaced at the reminder.

John snorted and brushed a hand over Stiles’s head. “Is that how you got that bruise?”

“Yeah.” He blinked sleepily. It was starting to feel like a huge effort to keep his eyes open.

A knock from the open door had them both turning. 

Lydia waved at John and smiled. “Hey, Sheriff.”

“Hello, Miss Martin,” he said rather formally. “How’re you doing?”

“Better.”

John slanted Stiles a look. “Lydia had a minor fender bender the day before yesterday and made the guy who bumped her cry.”

She shook her hair behind her shoulders. “He was texting and driving. And I was already in a bad mood.” She lifted a stack of official-looking folders. “But I’m in a much better mood today. Stiles, I’ve got some papers for you to sign.”

“Why? Did I sell my soul while I was unconscious?” he yawned.

She scoffed. “No. We’ve got some licenses to apply for.” Her smile was diamond bright. “Nice to see you, co-owner.”

He gave her a questioning look, then John. “What?” His brain was starting to feel foggy and exhausted. 

John pulled a second chair up to Stiles’s bed. “Have a seat, Lydia. Let’s look at these papers.”

Stiles blinked blearily at the documents they were spreading over the foot of his bed and smiled. Business license applications, official things…All very interesting, he was sure. Things to think about later, like his date with Derek, and later with the Hale family. For now, everyone was happy, and safe. 

Kate Argent was dead, they all survived, and Stiles had a date _and_ a business to open. That seemed like happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays until I finish writing it!


End file.
